


For the Love of a Dog

by originella



Series: For the Love of a Dog [1]
Category: Family Guy (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Original Slash, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 23:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 67,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21005828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originella/pseuds/originella
Summary: Vivienne Shaw is a junior in college looking to get a new start in Quahog, Rhode Island. She applies for a job as a live-in nanny for Cleveland and Donna Brown, and soon strikes up a friendship with Stewie Griffin, as well as a potential romance with Brian Griffin...





	1. In the Beginning...

I knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore—not that I’d ever been there; I mean, I’d seen _The Wizard of Oz_ like pretty much every girl I knew, and some of the gay guys I’d been friends with over the years, but… Well, I’ve never been to Kansas. I am originally a girl from Seattle, a place that I firmly believed should have been the capital of Washington State. I mean, why was Olympia the capital? You think you have the name equivalent to a Greek God and therefore…

Do not get me started on religion. I am a die-hard atheist. So much so that I was pretty much booted from my family. I worked my ass off through high school after I came out as an atheist so that I could go to college out of state—that was my goal from day one. As soon as I was accepted into Rhode Island College, I quickly wrote the acceptance to their acceptance letter, staying up till 3:00 a.m. in the process.

It was only half a scholarship, however, so getting a job would have to be in my plans as well, and I quickly scrolled through various classifieds as soon as I arrived—thankfully my scholarship covered board. I looked through and through the papers, until finally something stuck out at me: Nanny wanted.

I had plenty of experience watching children—I even wanted to go into teaching, and had even volunteered in a few classrooms back home. I quickly emailed by former clients and asked if they wouldn’t mind quickly writing me a reference letter. By the end of the week I had an interview, and three different reference letters—from the Harrison family, the Goldfield family, and the Young family. I packed them all up in my new briefcase—a last-minute parting gift from my aunt—and took a bus from the college to the neighborhood of Quahog, Rhode Island.

I got off at Laney Drive and pulled out my phone, easily accommodating Google Maps as I tried to find another block called Spooner Street. I make a right turn and, suddenly, there I am, walking down an unassuming patch of lower middle class suburbia. I keep walking and soon come upon a purple house, which my phone confirms is my destination. I quickly turn my phone to camera mode and, after making sure that my hair isn’t out of place, I make a beeline for the front door.

Reaching out, I make my hand into the customary fist and knock three times. Biting my lip, the door opens, and an African American couple answers the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Brown?” I ask, putting a smile in my face.

“Yes,” says Mrs. Brown with a pleasant smile. “How can we help you?”

“I’m Vivienne Shaw,” I replied. “I’ve been emailing with the two of you for the past couple of weeks. I’m here…”

“You’re here about the babysitting job!” Mr. Brown cries out, playfully clapping his hands like a small boy would. “Why don’t you come inside? We have a Cheez-It plate in the living room, just through here!”

“Cleveland!” cries Mrs. Brown, shaking her head. “Please excuse my husband, Vivienne—I can call you Vivienne, can’t I?” she asks, and, at my nod, continues. “It’s a variety of cheese and crackers. Why don’t you come in?”

“Thank you,” I reply, stepping inside to a normal-looking living room. I am invited to sit down and I thank them, sinking gratefully onto the couch. I look at the small coffee table in front of me, noting the three different kinds of cheese on the table, each with its own cheese knife. I notice that there are three kinds of crackers as well, but decide not to take anything for the moment.

“Vivienne, so nice to finally meet you,” Mrs. Brown says, smiling as she and her husband sit in a love seat to my left. “You mentioned that you have some child care experience?”

“Yes, I do,” I reply. “I worked as a babysitter from about thirteen until seventeen—just before my eighteenth birthday—but I moved here for school. I got my associate’s degree at a junior college in Seattle, so from eighteen until twenty-one I focused on classes, working odd jobs on campus and in retail.”

“And what do you intend to study?” asks Mrs. Brown.

“I want to be an elementary education teacher, and a writer,” I add, feeling a blush coming to my cheeks at my honesty.

“That’s wonderful,” Mrs. Brown replies. “Heavy class load?”

“Nine until three on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and nine until noon on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” I say promptly. “I have the weekends off, and the rest of those hours off—although I would need a couple of hours in the evening to complete homework.”

“You’re at Rhode Island College?” Mr. Brown asks.

“Yes, sir,” I reply. “Half a scholarship this year. That’s why I’ve applied to work for you. I have to be able to afford textbooks and such.”

“Rhode Island College is only about fifteen minutes away,” Mrs. Brown says. “How did you get here?”

“I took a bus,” I reply. “I have my license, and my parents are sending over my car. We didn’t part on good terms,” I say softly.

“What did you do?” asks a no-nonsense voice from across the room.

“Rallo!” Mrs. Brown shouts. “I told you to stay with Roberta and Cleveland Jr. upstairs. What do you think you’re doing down here?!”

“Wanted to take a look at whoever you’re entrusting us to,” Rallo replies, walking up to the couch to size me up. “Mm-hm,” he says approvingly. “Looks like we got ourselves a fine white bitch.”

“Rallo!” Mrs. Brown yells.

I lower my eyes down to Rallo. “Rallo? Is that your name?”

“That’s right, fool. What of it?”

“How would you feel if someone directed hurtful comments to you?” I asked simply. “Have you ever been called that word?”

“You afraid to say it?” he demanded.

I smiled and shook my head. “No, of course not. But there are certain things that aren’t appropriate in certain situations.”

“Like pulling my pants down at church?” Rallo asks, turning to his mother.

“If you’re into that sort of thing, yes,” I reply carefully. “But what you said to me was hurtful, rude, and inappropriate. The appropriate response would be to apologize.”

“She’s right,” Mr. Brown says. “Rallo, as your stepfather, I highly suggest that you apologize to Vivienne. She’s going to be your new nanny.”

“Well,” Mrs. Brown begins.

I turn and smile at Mr. Brown. “Sir, don’t you think that would be a tad irresponsible? I mean, you haven’t even checked my references yet.”

Mr. Brown laughs. “Call me Cleveland,” he says. “Yes, we should probably take a look at your references.”

I reach into my bag and hand over the paperwork to Mrs. Brown. I turn back to Rallo again, who can’t be more than five-years-old, who is looking up at me in shock. “Rallo?”

He lowers his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

I smile and pat his head. “Good boy. Thank you.” Rallo leaves the room and I turn back to Mr. and Mrs. Brown, who are looking approvingly at my reference letters.

“You know first aid?” asks Mrs. Brown.

I nod. “Yes. A copy of my certification for CPR should be in that pile.”

“This looks very promising,” Mrs. Brown says, and sees the final paper in the pile. “I see you’ve done your homework,” she says approvingly. “A background check.”

I nod a second time. “Yes. My father is best friends with the man who owns the company, so he was able to push my application for one ahead. Feel free to call him or do your own if you want to be one-hundred-percent sure.”

Mrs. Brown nods. “I think you’d better meet the children now.” She gets to her feet and goes towards the staircase, opposite the front door. “Roberta! Cleveland Jr.! Rallo! Come down here and meet Vivienne!”

I get to my feet as three people come down the stairs—two teenagers, and Rallo. Roberta is what you would call ‘cool’—she was sixteen, and had a streak of platinum blonde in her hair, a sassy perpetual pink mouth, and typical teenager clothing, complete with her midriff showing. Cleveland Jr. was a large child, but had a friendly air about him which led me to believe that he would be the easiest to deal with. And, front and center, was Rallo, who surprisingly came forward and took my hand.

“Roberta, Junior, this is Vivienne. She is a doll, if I do say so myself. Please, be cordial when you introduce yourselves.”

Roberta’s phone vibrates and she immediately goes to answer it. “Whatever,” she says to Rallo’s words, flipping back her hair to answer her text.

“It is so nice to meet you,” Cleveland Jr. says, putting out his hand; his voice hasn’t broken yet, and he has a sweet air about him. “Are you going to be looking after us?”

“_Not_ me,” Roberta says defiantly, unlocking her gaze from her phone to turn immediately to her parents. She was a classic, modern teenager in every sense, with the capability to command a room, to be bossy, rude, petulant, and controlling all at the same time. “I am sixteen! I do _not_ need a babysitter!”

“Well, get used to it,” Mrs. Brown says firmly. “We’re sticking with Vivienne.”

I blink. “Whoa. Did I just get hired?”

“Yes,” says Mrs. Brown with a smile. “If you want the job.”

“I want the job,” I reply.

“Good,” says Mrs. Brown. “As soon as your parents send you your car, we’ll discuss long-term arrangements.”

“Long-term?” I ask.

“Well, you stated in your personal application to us that you fully intended to get a job here, if everything worked out. You want to teach in Rhode Island.”

I nodded. “Yes, that’s still the case.”

“Well, Cleveland and I have made an apartment over the garage and expanded the garage to hold three cars. That means, if you would like to cut down on living expenses—we wouldn’t expect you to pay rent—you could stay there.”

“A garage apartment?” I ask.

Mrs. Brown nods. “Yes. Partially furnished, too. You would mainly need a mattress and a fridge and little things like that that we would help you with.”

“But, Mom, I thought that you were intending to give _me_ the garage apartment,” Roberta said, stepping in between me and Mrs. Brown. “And the empty space in the garage was going towards my convertible…”

Mrs. Brown sighs. “Roberta, I know you want a car real bad. Hell, I wanted one as bad as you did when I was sixteen. The problem is, your father and I—”

“_Step_father. He ain’t my dad,” Roberta snarls.

“Roberta! Respect. We’ll discuss this later, young lady,” Mrs. Brown says firmly before turning back to me. “When will your parents be sending your car?”

“Hopefully by the end of the week,” I reply. “Our communication has been sporadic of late, I’m afraid.”

Mrs. Brown nods. “I understand. Well, if you’re going to work with the family, you might as well get to be on a first name basis with us. Cleveland already gave you leave to call him so, and I’m Donna.”

“Nice to meet you officially, Donna,” I say with a smile.

. . .

Donna and I gab over wine and cheese after Cleveland heads out to a local bar to drink with some buddies. Donna and I share many childcare stories until suddenly it was after dinner time. It was Friday, so I didn’t have class the next morning, but if you lived in the dorms, you had an eleven-thirty curfew. By bus, it took twice as long to get there and, depending on traffic, I knew I ran the risk of being late.

“Don’t worry, Vivienne,” Donna said with a smile. “I called ahead for a pizza for the kids. It should be here in a few minutes. Why don’t you come across the street with me? One of my neighbors is having a girls’ night. You should come.”

“I couldn’t intrude,” I say quickly. “Really, Donna, I know you and I are getting to be friends, but I don’t know if it would be appropriate.”

“Psh,” Donna says with a smile. “Don’t you worry. Come on. We’ll go right now.” We both jump at the sound of the doorbell and Donna answers it, taking the pizza box and handing the driver a ten and a five for a tip. She calls the kids and tells them that Roberta is in charge while she’s across the street. She then motions for me to follow her and we walk directly across the street to a yellow house with blue-green shutters. Donna knocks on the door and a tall, attractive redhead answers it.

“Donna!” the woman cries, hugging her briefly before turning to me. “Who’s this?” she asks, not unkindly.

“Lois, this is Vivienne, my new nanny. She and I were visiting for a few hours and I thought I’d bring her by.”

“Well, wasn’t that nice?” Lois asks, turning to me with a smile. “Hi, I’m Lois Griffin. Please come in, Vivienne. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Griffin. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Lois laughs. “Please call me ‘Lois’.” We walk into the living room where a small baby with a yellow shirt, red overalls, and pale blue shoes sits on the purple couch, watching a program called _Jolly Farm Revue_.

“Is this your son?” I ask, stepping forward.

Lois turns to the couch and nods. “Yes, this is Stewie,” she says proudly. “Stewie, say hello to our guests.”

“Fuck you,” the baby says under his breath.

“Well, I think Stewie’s a little cranky tonight. Let’s go into the dining room. I have games and snacks set up in there,” Lois calls over her shoulder as Donna follows her in there.

I turn back to Stewie. “You must really have some pent-up anger against your mother to say something like that to her,” I say.

Stewie’s eyes widen. “You heard that?” he asks.

“Of course. I’ve been told I have good hearing.”

Stewie stands up on the couch. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a device, pressing a red button and I freeze when he uses it like a scanner on my head. “Wow. Your brain is extraordinary,” he says, almost in an awe-like fashion.

“Was that…? Did you just scan my brain?” I ask as he puts the device back into his small pocket.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s just not something I’m used to, that’s all.”

“And just what are you used to?”

“Being rejected for what I believe in,” I say without thinking.

“So, you’d classify yourself as misunderstood?” Stewie asks.

I nod. “Something like that.”

“My brain scanner was able to tell me that your ability to communicate with me has to do with your love for children.”

“I do love children…”

“It was also able to tell me that you possess a vast intelligence that not many people have been able to comprehend.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m an educator, a writer, an atheist, the list goes on…”

“Writer?!” I hear from upstairs. “Atheist?!”

“Oh, god,” Stewie says, his eyes shutting halfway. “Run, while you still can.”

I hear the clacking of toenails as a scampering is heard on the staircase and a white dog comes clambering down the stairs. I raise my eyebrows at the excitement, and the dog—who is wearing a red collar—stops short in front of us. He looks from me, to Stewie, to back again, before his eyes widen.

“Stewie, did-did… Have you two been talking?”

“Yes, Brian. That’s probably why we’re standing in close proximity to one another,” Stewie replies, his tone bordering on annoyance. “Vivienne, this is Brian, the family dog. Also known as failed writer, college dropout, my baby daddy…”

Brian laughs loudly and awkwardly before coming closer to me and sticks his black nose out, sniffing me for a moment before putting out his hand. “Brian,” he says to me, his tone sultry. “Brian Steel.”

“Hi, I’m Vivienne,” I say, forcing myself not to faint dramatically into his handsome arms. “I’ll bet Stewie’s used his brain scanner on you, too.”

Brain does the awkward laugh again. “Well…”

“Brian, you know full well that the brain scanner wasn’t the only scanner—or invention—used upon you.”

“I think the logical question at this point—other than the obvious of what you meant by ‘baby daddy’, as well as which other scanners you used on him—but, in all seriousness, Stewie, how and why do you have a British accent?” I asked.

Stewie grinned. “I suppose I was conceived that way,” he replied. “And speaking of conception, Brian and I have quite a story for you…”

“You mean other than the time you predicted the gender reassignment surgery of Bruce Jenner?” Brian asked.

“Caitlyn Jenner,” I corrected him.

“So you’re a writer?” Brian asks, hopping up on the couch beside Stewie and patting the empty seat next to him. “What do you write?”

“I write about the past,” I replied. “I write about the fact that, despite a time period where men were perceived as gentleman, that women were frequently kept underfoot and not allowed to do as they pleased. Women were slaves, Brian, plain and simple.”

Stewie grins at me. “Do social movements play a large role in your stories?”

“Yes, many times,” I reply. “I’ve written about the Women’s Right’s Movement’s from a commoner’s point of view. I’ve written about grand princesses in England or France or Spain or Scotland and how they are forced to marry for the sake of their kingdom. I’ve written about Muslim women and about how they’re subject to brutal treatment—all done in the name of honor—so that their families can have what they think they deserve. I’ve written about many things, many times over, always with a hint of romance.”

“I wrote a novel that actually got published,” Brian says with a smile. “It’s called _Faster Than the Speed of Love_.”

“Brian, your novel sounds like a bad sitcom attempting to be dramatic on ABC Family with just a large enough budget to overshadow the hopeless cast who are only famous for being a character in a big-budget Hollywood film in which they only had a minor role,” Stewie says, shaking his head.

I do my best to hide my smile. “I’m so very sorry, Brian,” I say genuinely when he sees my amusement at Stewie’s monologue. “Stewie is just so entertaining.”

“Wow! I think we’ve found a third member of our group!” Stewie cries. “Hey, Vivienne, do you want to get some ice cream?”

“Sure,” I reply.

Stewie jumps from the couch and goes towards the hall closet. He takes out a nondescript sweater and hands it to me. “You’ll need it,” he assures me as he unexpectedly leads me upstairs, Brian following.

Looking up, I see a young girl, around Roberta’s age, maybe a little older, standing outside a bedroom door. “Dad, have you seen my trapper keeper?” she asks.

The door opens and a man comes out, grabbing his daughter’s face and pulling it towards his abnormally fat ass. He promptly farts on it, leading the girl to scream. The man then laughs and returns to the bedroom.

“_What_ was that?!” I demand.

“Peter and Meg,” Brian replies.

“We don’t engage,” Stewie says quickly. He leads me to another bedroom door and opens it, stepping aside to allow us to come in. “Do watch out for Bert, won’t you? He’s getting a cat-scan,” Stewie warns us.

“What is going on in that household?” Brian asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, Brian,” Stewie replies. “Half the time I’m playing with them I’m so drugged out on cough syrup that I don’t know what’s happening anymore.” He goes over to a key pad on the opposite bedroom wall and types in a passcode. Little doors open and he gets out a controller, whereupon he pushes another button and the whole wall opens before us, a large, black, box-like thing appearing before us.

“Stewie,” I whisper, “what is _that_?!”

He grins. “That, my dear Vivienne, is a time machine. Well, Brian, now you can say that you took another girl in my time machine, this time _with_ permission.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, turning from one to the other.

“Nothing, nothing!” Brian says quickly, glaring at Stewie.

“Come, Vivienne,” Stewie says, stepping forward so that the doors unlock automatically for him. As Brian and I join him in the time machine, the door automatically close behind us as Stewie types in the destination and time period: China, 200 B.C. He then claps his hands as electronic noises come forth and then there is a flash of white light and then we’re suddenly transported to China.

“Oh, my god,” I whisper, looking around. We are standing on the banks of a rather large rice paddy, many Chinese workers in the fields before us. “We’re really in China, aren’t we, you guys?” I ask.

“According to my device, we are,” Stewie replies.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, lowering my eyes. “Good Lord, we’re wearing authentic Chinese clothing of the period!”

“Stewie, what the hell?! Your time machine didn’t do this before!” Brian hisses at him, which is something I’ve always wondered about dogs doing.

“Ah, yes. After several mishaps of us finding clothes in a hurry, I’ve programmed various history programs into my time machine’s back-log. This way, the clothes are generated from our other clothes’ matter, because my time machine is programmed to always be one step ahead of me.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Brian asks.

“We’ll see,” Stewie replies, crossing the rice paddy to the east. We soon enter a small village where Stewie crosses to the biggest hut. He knocks on the door, sticking his face into the small living space. “我們是外地人, 但我們對你沒有壞處,” Stewie says in a solemn manner to the lady of the house.

The lady nods and beckons, and we step inside. She is warming something which smells sweet on her fireplace, and motions for us to sit at her table. Getting onto our knees, we kneel before her table, placing our hands in our laps.

“Stewie, what did you say to her?” Brian whispers as her back is turned.

“I simply informed her that we were outsiders but we meant her no harm,” Stewie replied. “I read somewhere that sincerity exists in all languages.”

The woman takes three bowls from her bamboo cupboard and begins ladling the concoction into them—it is white, and smells incredible. She produces bamboo woven chopsticks from a drawer and places each bowl and chopsticks onto the table. She bows her head and says to Stewie, “從遙遠的村莊一道新菜. 正如我的嘉賓，請品嚐吧,” she says before going to a prayer rug on the opposite side of the room and kneeling on it.

I lower my eyes to what is in the bowl before me. Picking up my chopsticks, I place their mouths into the bowl and open them very slowly. Daintily, I bring the now full-chopsticks into my own mouth, and sigh immediately in delight. “Milk, rice,” I whisper.

Stewie shakes his head at the mixture and picks up his bowl. Crossing towards the front door, he motions to the woman. He steps outside and grabs a handful of seemingly clean snow from the ground surrounding the woman’s home and shoves it into his bowl. Mixing his new invention together, he produces it to the woman. Taking a bite, her eyes widen and she bows to Stewie.

“你會成為一個偉大的戰士1天,” she informs him.

Stewie smiles at that and bows again to her. “謝謝你，蓮花. 我的朋友和我現在必須走了. 謝謝你的好意,” he tells her.

The woman nods, just as a young man of about my age steps into the house. He starts speaking to her, and immediately I know that he is her son. Stewie is staring at this young man and looks very interested. The young man suddenly sees me and steps forward, taking my pale hands in his.

“你看起來比任何我見過的更多的不同. 有了我的媽媽叫你從遙遠的村莊, 成為我的新娘?” he asks.

I turn to Stewie for an explanation.

“He’s asking if you were brought here to be his wife,” Stewie replies, looking dejected and rejected all at the same time.

“Tell him I wasn’t!” I cry out, shaking my head.

“Yeah, buddy, she wasn’t!” Brian cries.

“證明,” the young man replies.

“Now he says he wants proof that you’re not brought here to be his wife,” Stewie tells me, lowering his eyes.

“Here’s your proof!” Brian says. He immediately grabs me by the collar of my borrowed sweater and kisses me.

I want to struggle—hell, I’d just met the guy! But my body was suddenly not my own. I threw my arms around his furry frame, and did not want to let him go. He tilted my head back ever so slightly so as he was able to get better access to my mouth. I knotted my fingers into his fur, even managing to scratch his ears in the process, while Brian’s tail wagged and he thumped his knee against the ground.

I pull away from Brian triumphantly, and the poor young man has to be consoled by his mother and is given Stewie’s bowl as a means to make him feel better. Stewie leads us back towards the rice paddy, and into a bamboo forest in the distance. He removes something from his pocket—something he calls a return pad—and gently throws it onto the ground. We all step onto it, and the flash of white light envelopes us again, and soon we are stepping back out into Stewie’s bedroom, in our regular clothes and time period. Stewie makes a beeline for his laptop, Googling something.

“What are you looking up?” Brian asks.

His eyes widen. “Oh, my…”

“What is it?” I ask.

“It seems as though the three of us have successfully created the very first suicide in Chinese history,” Stewie says softly.

“And that’s a good thing?” I ask, confused. “I mean, suicide isn’t a good thing, is it? I mean, what did he do?”

“Probably choked himself by a bamboo shoot or drowned himself in a rice paddy,” Brian replied darkly.

I gasped. “Brian!” I cry out, throwing the borrowed sweater at him.

“Too soon?” he asked.

“Never mind,” Stewie said, shaking his football shaped head which could not be normal in the slightest. “He stepped off a cliff behind his house. It worked out all right, though. It seems as though he was somehow connected to Hitler. He had a descendent who was one of the Nazi party’s most prominent members.”

I raise my eyebrows. Going across the room, I look outside, and am surprised to see that outdoors looks completely normal. “Who’s that?” I ask, pointing to a man with curly red hair and glasses.

Stewie comes up behind me and peers out. “That’s Mort Goldman,” he replies. “Look! I see a penny out in front of him…”

Mort walks towards the penny, inspects it without picking it up, shrugs, and walks onward down the sidewalk.

“Wow,” Brian says quietly, his eyes wide. “Even if it’s a penny, Mort always picks up loose change…”

“He even got drunk once at one of our parties and proceeded to look for loose change in our couch,” Stewie said softly. He climbs down from the windowsill and turns towards one of his baby chairs, where an orange bear sits. “Rupert! Don’t tell me you were getting turned on for Mort again!” he cries, picking him up. “We’ve discussed this!”

“Rupert is certainly a lovely name,” I say, stepping forward. “What does he enjoy doing, Stewie?”

Charmed at the notion of me asking about his teddy bear, Stewie smiles. “Rupert is quite the body builder, aren’t you?” he asks, referring to his bear. “He enjoys frolicking, hula contests, amusement parks, and those games you play at fairs. He so enjoys winning those plush toy prizes…”

“He sounds like a fascinating person,” I reply. “Nice to meet you, Rupert.”

“Hmm?” Stewie says, holding Rupert up to his ear. “All right, I’ll tell her,” he says, turning back to me. “Rupert has informed me that he likes you very much. He says that he would love to be your friend.”

I smile at that. “Thank you, Rupert. I’d love to be your friend, too.”

“Oh, there you are, Vivienne,” says Lois from behind me as I turn around. “Brian, have you and Stewie been entertaining Vivienne the whole time? You’ve been so quiet.”

“Yeah, well you know me,” Brian replied. “I just get to talking about atheism and writing and whoo—I’m off.”

“So you’re an atheist too, Vivienne?” Lois asks.

I nod. “Yes, Lois. Donna mentioned that you were Catholic, and I mean no disrespect. It’s just the way I feel.”

“Well, thank you for being so upfront,” Lois replied. “I know Donna doesn’t mind—she had a suspicion that you were,” she said with a smile. “Stewie, Mommy just spoke to Father Time as she came up the stairs.”

“What?!” Stewie cries. “But he only comes out when it is very late!”

“That’s right, it is late,” Lois says, picking Stewie up. “Do you want Mommy to read you a night-night story?”

“Fuck no, bitch,” Stewie says, beginning to struggle. “I want Vivienne to read to me!” he demands, reaching for me.

“Oh-ho-ho, isn’t that nice? He seems to have taken a liking to you, Vivienne,” Lois says, smiling at me.

I shrug. “He’s an exceptionally well-behaved baby, Lois.”

Stewie smiles at that. “No thanks to that cow,” he says, referring to Lois.

Lois smiles. “Well, why don’t I just give you a diaper change before Mommy goes back downstairs? Then Vivienne can read you a night-night story.”

“Oh, I don’t mind changing—”

“_Yes_, you do,” Brian assures me softly. “I ate one of those things once… I could swear it was Indian food. Trust me, you do not want to go near there.”

“What a handsome boy you are!” Lois says, blowing raspberries on Stewie’s belly, causing him to giggle and demand for her to stop. She removes his diaper and cleans him, before throwing the diaper away. She powders Stewie’s baby bottom and then slips a fresh diaper onto his little frame. Then she slips him into a fresh pair of PJ’s before rubbing alcohol-based hand sanitizer onto her hands before she hands over Stewie to me. “Read anything you want from the bookshelves, Vivienne,” Lois tells me. “Stewie’s favorite book is _Goodnight Moon_.”

“I love that story, too,” I reply, walking over to the bookshelf to get the copy as Lois leaves the room. I sit in the adjoining rocking chair and switch on the reading light, positioning Stewie comfortably in my lap. “‘In a great green room there was a telephone, and a red balloon, and a picture of a cow jumping over the moon’,” I begin, smiling as Stewie snuggles into my lap. I continue reading the classic tale, all the while Stewie’s eyes slowly begin to grow heavy, and his head relaxes back against my chest. Finally, I begin to lower my voice so that it only becomes a lull as he drifts off to sleep. “‘Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere’,” I whisper. I hand over the book to Brian and gently take up Stewie into my arms. I carry him over towards his crib, decorated with stars and moons and gently kiss his forehead before settling him down. I reach out and turn on his dancing mobile before Brian switches off the light and I close the door.

“We make a pretty good team,” Brian says softly, leading me downstairs to the living room and to the attached indoor patio beyond.

I smile, sitting in one of the provided chairs. “Yes, we do, don’t we?”

“So, what about you, Vivienne?” Brian asks, sitting across from me and crossing his legs in an attempt to be a gentleman.

I blink. “What _about_ me, Brian?”

He smiles a bit, almost as if he is feeling a combination of awkwardness and confidence at the situation. “Well, do you drink?”

I raise my eyebrows. “No, I don’t.”

“Really? Why?”

“Alcohol addiction runs in my family,” I reply. “I feel that you should either smoke or drink and I do the former.”

“Cigarettes?” he asks.

I wrinkle my nose. “God, no. Weed.”

He sighs. “The last woman I met who was an atheist who liked weed broke my heart,” he said softly.

“How did she do that?”

“She slept with Cleveland,” Brian replied. “Her name was Carolyn, and she was everything I ever wanted in a woman. Cleveland and Carolyn were supposed to get married but she cheated on him with Quagmire—all before giving Cleveland genital warts.”

“Who’s Quagmire?” I asked.

“A guy who hates me,” Brian said softly.

There was a bang from outside then and then a scurrying of footsteps. The front door opened and slammed and then the scurrying began again. Then the door to the patio opened and a middle-aged man who was tall with black hair and thin as a reed entered the room. “Who said they didn’t know me?” he demanded playfully.

I raised my hand. “I did.”

Immediately, the man ran over to me and grabbed me. He laughed twice, the sound never escaping his throat, as he gazed down at me. “Glenn Quagmire. How are you doin’?” he asked, his eyes roving over every inch of me. “I’m an airline pilot, so maybe someday I’ll let you sit on my plane—among other places—for free. OH!”

I managed to disengage myself from his fawning hands. “Excuse me, sir, but whoever told you that they liked being groped by a stranger was probably messed up in the head,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Come again?” asks Quagmire. “Do you imply that I sleep with women who are brain damaged? Because I do that. Kind of a fetish of mine,” he says, and does the throaty laugh to me again.

“Yeah, I’m not brain damaged, last time I checked,” I reply. “But I can see why someone could be while talking to you.”

Quagmire stops laughing. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve got to be the stereotypical, low-life creep that preys on women because you yourself have nothing going on in your life,” I tell him. “I’ve heard about you—your other mother gave a talk at my junior college back in Seattle. Ida Davis, right?” I ask, and see immediately that I’ve touched a nerve. “Your mother is a whore turned born-again Christian, your other mother is empowering—although he has to work on his table manners—and your sister has co-dependency!”

“What about my brother?!” Quagmire demands. “You gonna say something negative about him next?”

“Gary?” I ask. “No. My mother is fluent in ASL and they had a great many conversations when I was in Seattle last.”

“So…you’re _not_ interested?”

“_Definitely_ not interested,” I reply.

“Fine! I’ll just go back home and rent a dirty movie!” Quagmire says like a sullen child before sobbing and wailing like a baby before taking himself out of there.

“Wow. That was something.”

I turn back to Brian. “Are you being sarcastic right now?”

“No.” He gets to his feet. “You turned down _the_ Glenn Quagmire. Why?”

“Honestly?” I ask. “I don’t want my first time to be wasted on someone so insensitive and potentially degrading to women.”

Brian raises his eyebrows. “Wait. _You’re_ a virgin?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Why?”

“I just… I don’t understand why someone like you could be.”

“I’m going to be upfront with you, Brian,” I say, lowering myself back into the chair. “I pinched pennies from birthday money and odd jobs from the time I was eight until I was eighteen to have a particular surgery.”

“What kind of surgery?” Brian asks.

“Liposuction,” I reply. “I couldn’t lose weight, and my family wouldn’t do anything to help me, so I saved the money and did it myself.” I raise my blouse up slightly to expose my midriff where the scar still is. “There’s your proof. And that’s why I’m still a virgin. Because, despite the fact that I lost the weight—with a significant amount of help—everyone in Seattle knew about me. They saw me as a liar and a cheater and didn’t come anywhere near me—they thought I was a monster. I was unacceptable to them when I was fat, and just as intolerable to them when I was thin. I couldn’t win.”

Brian sighs and takes my hand. “I’m so sorry.”

I give him a sad smile. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“I just think that maybe you should consider… What I mean to say is… I know we’ve just met, Vivienne, but I would really like to—” We are interrupted by his phone ringing, and he sighs. “I’m sorry.” He takes it out of his pocket, and I see the name JILLIAN reflected on his yellow I.D. tag. “Do you mind if I…?”

“No, of course not,” I reply, easily withdrawing my hand from his.

He swipes the green phone icon to the right. “Hello? Hi, Jillian. Yes, I know it’s been over six years since Derek died. What?!” he demands then. “Jillian, I… You know that I wanted you back on your wedding day, but…” He turns around as he begins pacing back and forth. “I’m sorry you had a miscarriage after Diane Simmons killed Derek, really I am. But that doesn’t mean that I… Jillian, don’t talk that way. Of course you’ll find someone else. Yes, I still like you. Did I ever…? Jillian, you know the answer to that question. _Yes_, I loved you,” Brian goes on, and I can’t hear anymore. “Jillian, please. No… I still care for you, really I do, but it’s not that easy…”

I get to my feet and walk out to the living room just as Lois, Donna, and another woman come out of the dining room.

“Oh! Bonnie, this is Vivienne,” Donna says. “Vivienne is our new nanny. I hear that you might steal her away from me, huh, Lois?” Donna asks.

Lois chuckles. “Well, Vivienne was good with Stewie, I’ll give her that.”

I smile and pick up my bag from the hall table. I pull on my own jacket and slip my bag over my arm. “Well, Lois, it’s been wonderful being in your home. Bonnie, a pleasure to meet you, although it was brief.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Bonnie replies. “I have a baby, too—Susie. I just might have to borrow your childcare skills sometime.”

I smile. “I’d like that. You live in the gray house next door?” I asked.

“Yes,” Bonnie says with a smile.

“Ready to go?” Donna asks.

I turn my ear towards the patio, where I hear Brian on the phone. Pushing it from my mind, I turn back towards Donna. “Yes, I’m ready,” I reply.


	2. Don’t Gimme That Old Time Religion

Donna dropped me off at the college later that evening, after going back over to the Brown residence to say a brief goodbye to Roberta, Cleveland Jr., and Rallo. I get back into my dorm, and switch on my cell phone, plugging it into the charger on the wall. I am surprised to see a text from an unknown number, and click on it with my finger to access it. I raise my eyebrows at its text.

_Brian tried to get with you didn’t he?_ the text asked.

I quickly wrote back, _Who is this?_

_Stewie. Yes, I have a phone. Lois and the Fat Man don’t know about it and I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell them_.

_I won’t, I promise._

_I took the time machine into the future as soon as you’d gone. I went five years into the future to see what kind of developments happened between you and the dog._

_Stewie, I really don’t think that…_

_Vivienne, come on. Aren’t you the least bit curious?_

_NO!_

_Well, too bad. Brian certainly took a shine to you this evening. It took all I had to hold him at bay when I went five years into the future._

_Wait…Brian’s into me?_

_Yes, and from what I can gather, as soon as Donna came home, he demanded to know where your dorm was on campus._

_He what?!_

_Don’t worry, she didn’t tell him. I know where your dorm is, though—I’ve installed a tracking device on my phone that navigates where my contact recipients are._

_I see…_

_Don’t worry, I won’t tell Brian. It would be unethical. He’ll see you across the street a few times a week anyhow._

_Well, as soon as my parents send over my car, it’ll be more often than that._

_What do you mean?_

_When my parents send over my car, I’m moving into the Browns’ garage apartment. They had it specially made for their nannies._

_Does that mean you’ll come on another time travelling adventure with the pair of us at some point or another?_

_Yes, Stewie, I’d like that. _

_I’m glad. I know Brian will enjoy it as much as I will._

_Ha-ha, well, if you say he’s into me…_

_He _is _into you, Vivienne. We’ve discussed this._

_Thanks, Stewie. That helps._

_It does, doesn’t it?_

_Yes. Now go to bed. You’ll be tired tomorrow._

_Goodnight, Vivienne. _

_Goodnight, Stewie._

. . . 

I find that I am only seventy-eight or so percent there in my classes the following morning. I cannot focus on my advanced education class, or my advanced writing class, or my poetry in childcare class either. Each instructor—Morrison, Daniels, and Phelps—each become annoyed with me in turn. _Damn him_, I think more than once that day. _Damn Brian Griffin and his inability to rid himself of an ex-girlfriend…_

. . .

The following week, my car is finally sent over in one piece and I call Donna about it. She tells me that she will take me shopping that weekend—and even foot the bill—for anything and everything I need for the garage apartment. I give my weeks’ notice to the dormitory board and go about packing the things I won’t need right away. On Friday afternoon, as soon as my classes are over, I pack what is mine into my car and drive from Rhode Island College back to Spooner Street.

Donna meets me outside and gives me a hug as soon as I pull into the space in the garage that is now mine. She helps me with my suitcases and such, along with my briefcase and a few paintings I’d inherited from my grandfather—mainly Waterhouse and Van Gogh prints, of which I was very proud. As soon as we’d gotten everything into my new place, I sent Donna my list electronically and we headed to the local mall to pick everything that I would need to furnish my place up.

We first head into _Bed, Bath and Beyond_ where I initially think Donna is going to get me a few throw pillows or something, but she ends up buying me a modern couch, a new mattress, a new bedding and bedspread, pillows, and various rugs to accent the whole apartment. We go into the kitchen supply store—there is a kitchenette in the apartment—and Donna buys me various pots and pans and other kitchen necessities that she insists that I will need, along with a decent-sized fridge as well. We go to a supply store next where Donna buys me a proper set of tools to fix little things around the apartment. Donna tells me that I have permission to contact a plumber or some other kind of fix-it man if something needs to be fixed. The penultimate stop we make is at the grocery store, where I am stocked up for at least a month on food.

Donna then takes me to a restaurant on Main Street called Italian Food. She orders beef stroganoff and I order chicken ravioli. We gab about the following weeks—she fully intends to give me weekends off—and tells me that she usually makes dinner on nights that she is available to do so. She informs me that if I would like, I am more than welcome to join the family for dinner.

“You’re family now, sweetheart,” she says, patting my hand.

I smile. “Thank you, Donna. I really appreciate that.”

She sighs, taking a sip of her iced tea and chewing a bite of her lunch. “Vivienne, please, I want to know… You said that you and your family parted on bad terms?”

I find I am slumping slightly in my seat, my shoulders bowing forward of my own accord. “I did part with them on bad terms, yes…”

“Would you please tell me what happened? All you assured Cleveland and I was that it wasn’t for some illegal activity…”

I sighed. “Donna, my family was Catholic on my mother’s side and Lutheran on my father’s side. I realized at sixteen that I was an atheist. I just couldn’t take that lifestyle anymore, but I knew if they found out, they’d send me to a convent or something. I planned to work my butt off during school to get a big scholarship, and by doing that, I could get a ticket out of that life…” My voice breaks.

“Vivienne, I’m so sorry,” Donna whispers.

I nod. “Thank you. My parents don’t know where I am…”

“Then how did you get your car?” she wants to know.

I bite my lip. “My older brother, Paul, sent it over. Paul is a doctor—all graduated and living on his own with his own family. He bought my car from my parents so now it’s in his name and not there’s.”

“Is Paul Lutheran or Catholic?” Donna asks.

I shake my head. “No. He’s an atheist.”

“Does your family know?”

I nod. “Yes. But I guess he’s allowed to be because he’s financially responsible, and married, and has kids… I don’t know. I guess it has to do with the fact that he’s a boy… I don’t know…”

Donna pats my hand. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” she tells me. She pays the bill and we leave the restaurant, walking to a Popsicle stand down the street. I order a strawberry and Donna orders a Creamsicle. We then walk back to the restaurant parking lot, finishing the Popsicles in the car before driving back to the Brown residence. Cleveland and Cleveland Jr. come out of the house to help out with the unpacking of Donna’s car, while Roberta stands there looking pissed and Rallo attempts to get some of the smaller things up into the garage apartment.

Donna had had the floors waxed and swept and dusted before I arrived and, just an hour before dinner, my new apartment was ship shape. I thanked all of them and then they left me alone to jump in the shower. I felt the warm water with my hand before stepping in, and I felt relaxed as it took out all the knots in my back. I rolled my shoulders, feeling good and at peace as I scrubbed my body and washed and conditioned my hair. I was through around fifteen minutes later and I put on my new bathrobe and wrapped a towel around my long hair as I stepped out.

I was surprised to see Roberta sitting on my new couch, painting her nails an unattractive red color. “Um, can I help you?” I asked.

She looked up at me, her light green eyeshadow not her color at all. “No!” she said, all sass and no manners. “I’ve fought off al Qaeda’s before, so I don’t need you to get all up in my face right now!”

“Roberta, I understand where this resentment is coming from, but believe me, it’s totally and completely unfounded. Besides, you’re a pretty young woman. Don’t you have a boyfriend or something to keep you occupied? I mean, you’re sixteen, and its Friday night. Don’t you have a date or something?”

She sighs. “No,” she admits. “My mom won’t let me have a car. I’d be cool if only I had a car to drive…”

I sigh. “Do you have a license?”

She nods. “Yes. I passed it on my first try.”

“Okay. Does your mom ever let you drive?”

“Sometimes I take the boys to school,” she tells me, “but Mom takes the bus to our school and picks the car up…”

“Have you gotten into an accident before?” I ask. “Any tickets or misdemeanors or anything like that?”

“No. Never.”

I sigh. “Well, I don’t have any plans tonight.” I go over to my purse and fish out my car key, throwing it at her. “Have fun tonight. But if you crash it, you’ll be grounded and I’ll be fired; is that understood?”

Roberta squeals and throws her arms around me. “Thank you, thank you!” she shouts, leaving my apartment and dashing to my car.

I chuckle to myself and return to the bathroom to dry my hair. After that’s done, I slip on some clothes and set about hooking up the flat screen T.V. in the apartment. It is soon hooked up to the cable, but after looking at the guide, I find there is nothing interesting on the tube, so I switch it off. I hear a knock from below and I look down to see Stewie standing there, waving.

“Hey, Stewie!” I call. “Come on up.”

Stewie grins and claps his hands, coming up easily and crosses to sit down on my couch. “I love what you’ve done with the place, Vivienne. Is that a Waterhouse painting?” he asks, pointing to the wall.

I nod. “Yes. It’s called _A Mermaid_,” I tell him, pouring him a glass of apple juice and sitting beside him on the couch. “My grandfather left it to me.”

“Lois and the Fat Man have left town for the weekend,” Stewie tells me, sipping his apple juice and looking around. “They went up to Cape Cod to a bed and breakfast. Meg’s at a girls’ weekend retreat type thing—I think it’s for a box social or something—and Chris is visiting our grandparents. Our grandfather made him his heir last year, so he’s wanting to spend lots of time with him.”

“And you? You’re still home?” I ask.

Stewie nods. “Yes. Brian’s supposed to be looking after me, but he’s drunk.”

“That’s so irresponsible,” I growl and, noticing that Stewie has finished his apple juice, pick him up and carry him downstairs.

“Whoa, Vivienne, where are we going?!”

“You’ll see,” I reply, now regretting giving Roberta my car for the night. We walk across the street and I walk in automatically, hearing laughter from the sun porch. Shutting the door behind me and going closer, I see Brian sitting there with a bottle of Rite Aid whisky at his side. Setting Stewie down, I advance upon him and promptly and most indelicately slap him across the face.

“What the hell?!” Brian says, soberer now. “Stewie, I can’t believe you brought _her_ here to see this!” Brian shouts.

“I had to, Brian. You were being irresponsible. Ergo, I needed to find someone with a bit of responsibility within her.”

“I can’t believe you would get drunk when you’re supposed to be taking care of him!” I shout, shaking my head. “That’s totally irresponsible!”

“Yes, we’ve covered that,” Brian replies, touching his cheek momentarily before groaning and grabbing his forehead. “Oh! My head…”

“Alcohol does that to you,” I reply bitterly. “Stewie, can you get him a couple of painkillers and a glass of water, please?”

Stewie nods and goes to the kitchen.

“Sorry you had to see this…”

I shrug. “Might as well get used to it, considering that you and I are neighbors now and all that entails…”

“Wait, you’re all moved in?”

“Yep,” I reply. “As of this afternoon.”

Brian rubs his eyes and groans a bit more until Stewie returns in a prompt manner with his water and painkillers. He takes the offered tumbler glass and downs the water and pills before letting out a sigh. He moves into the living room and sits down on the couch, quickly motioning for us to join him.

“Thanks for the invite,” I say, crossing the room and sitting beside him as Stewie crawls onto my lap. “Now, it’s Friday night and none of us have plans. Stewie? What would you like to do now?”

Considering for a moment, Stewie’s eyes suddenly light up in excitement. “Oh, I’ve got a wonderful idea!” he cries, hopping down from the couch. “Come on, Brian,” he orders lightly, as he takes my hand.

Brian grudgingly gets to his feet and follows up upstairs and down the hall, where we end up in Stewie’s bedroom. He walks forward and keys in the passcode for his time machine into his wall and the wall separates, allowing the time machine to move forward. The portable key pad presents itself and Stewie allows us inside as the door of the time machine opens and he hesitates a bit before the controls as the doors close behind him. He keys in the location, England, and the year, 1536, along with the month of October, and the date, the second. The time machine fires up to life and suddenly we are transported to centuries ago into England.

We arrive at what appears to be a hill, behind a tree, and, looking around, I feel myself begin to shake as I look to see something happening in the distance. I can’t be sure but, as I recall the various history lessons I’d given myself, I know that we are at the very beginning of the Pilgrimage of Grace, a time when England saw turmoil for changing Catholicism to the Church of England.

“I see you know what is happening,” Stewie says in approval.

I lower my eyes to him, and he looks like he could be dressed like a little prince. I turn to look at Brian, who is dressed like a duke of some sort, while I look as if I could be a duchess, which meant that I was posing as his wife. “So… I suppose we had better get there,” I say, nodding to where I assumed was Greenwich Palace, where a series of carts and such were unloading various possessions.

Stewie checks his device. “It seems as though the court has just arrived here from a journey from Richmond Palace,” Stewie informs the two of us. “Now, we’ve got to come up with our identities. We’d best take your name, Vivienne, as it sounds the most convincing. Griffin sounds quite peasant-like, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps we had better select names which go appropriately with our clothing,” I tell Stewie in what I think is a sensible voice. “Lady Elizabeth Shaw, Duchess of Gifford,” I say with a little chuckle. “You could be Lord Edward, heir to the dukedom,” I say, “and Brian could be Lord Henry—named for the king, of course—Shaw, Duke of Gifford.”

“But where is Gifford supposed to be?” Brian wants to know. “There has never been an area in England called that…”

“Actually, that’s not true,” I reply. “Gifford has been used for areas such as Devon, Essex, two areas of Wiltshire, Oxfordshire, and Gloucestershire,” I say patiently. “The last Duke of Gloucester was King Richard III, and the next one won’t be until 1659.”

“You’re clearly reading a Wikipedia article from your phone,” Brian says.

“Oh, come off it, Brian, like you’ve never Wiki-cheated,” Stewie says in a good-natured voice before peering back to look at the palace again. “Well, might as well make a go of it,” he says softly, tucking his control device into his jacket. “Come now, Mummy,” he says, shooting me a smile as he takes my hand. “Let’s see if they’ll let us in.”

We cross the road together and make our way into the courtyard, where I look to see what appears to be a king and queen in the garden. They don’t see us, and the pair of them laugh a little together before slipping inside. I see a young woman there by herself, and I tell Stewie to remain with Brian while I go and speak to her.

“You’re Lady Mary, aren’t you?” I say gently to her. “King Henry’s eldest daughter?”

She raises her brown eyes to mine and nods. “Yes. And who are you?”

“My name is Lady Elizabeth Shaw,” I reply effortlessly. “My husband, Henry, and my little son, Edward, are standing over there. My husband and I are the Duke and Duchess of Gifford,” I go on, hoping that this lie—and my faux English accent—sounds convincing. “I am afraid we’ve gotten quite lost, and we were supposed to be here in the summer, but we were a bit delayed.”

Lady Mary nods. “Yes, I see. You must be the new lady in waiting for my stepmother, Queen Jane.”

“Yes,” I say quickly, too quickly. “That is exactly what I am.”

“I recognize your husband,” Lady Mary says, smiling kindly as Brian and giving a loving smile to little Stewie. “He’s joined my father on numerous hunts and various other manly excursions. Perhaps he would do well to have his friend back.”

“My thoughts exactly, Lady Mary,” I reply.

“Good.” She gets to her feet and crosses to where Brian and Stewie stand. “Edward would do well to join my sister, Elizabeth, in the royal nursery. Who knows? Perhaps they can become friends as well.”

Stewie let out a delighted warble at the invitation and Lady Mary led us into the palace and up two flights of stairs. After going around a few corners, we made our way to a grand-looking door which a pair of guards allowed us into instantly. Lady Mary shooed away some unimportant-looking servants and advanced upon a young girl with gorgeous red hair and clear blue eyes.

“Elizabeth, dear sister,” Lady Mary said gently to the three-year-old, “this is Lord Edward Shaw, heir to the dukedom of Gifford. He is here to be your friend.”

The Lady Elizabeth turned and looked at Stewie briefly, before getting to her feet and extending her hand to him. Stewie came and stood beside her for a moment before taking her hand and kissing it. The youngest daughter of the king let out a little laugh before the doors of the nursery came open then and a booming voice greeted all of us as its owner crossed the threshold.

“My beautiful daughters!” boomed the voice. “Why, I see you’ve brought guests to your dear sister, Mary!”

Turning, all of us saw that King Henry himself had happened upon the nursery, and we all of us took our curtsies and bows respectively. The king crossed towards us and looked down at Brian. He hesitated for a moment.

“You seem familiar to me somehow… You’ve met my daughter?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Brian replied.

“Father, this is Lord Henry and Lady Elizabeth Shaw, Duke and Duchess of Gifford,” Lady Mary tells the king.

“And this must be Lady Elizabeth,” the king said, bringing me up from my curtsy and kissing my hand as Stewie had done to the Lady Elizabeth. He looks me over for a time, almost as if he has to truly consider just what it is he will say next. “Tell me, where have I met your husband before?”

“You met him as a child, a young boy, Your Majesty,” I reply. “My dear Henry tells me that he would often play at tennis with you and the Duke of Suffolk, back when he was merely Sir Charles Brandon.”

“Oh, yes I do recall!” said the king triumphantly. “Always reading, I remember.”

“Yes,” replied Brian carefully. “I read…so much, Your Majesty, it is quite hard to remember just what I read…”

“I remember, husband,” I reply, keeping up the charade. “‘Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly; their beauty shakes me who was once serene; straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen. Only your word will heal the injury, to my hurt heart, while yet the wound is clean—our two great eyes will slay me suddenly; their beauty shakes me who was once serene. Upon my word, I tell you faithfully, through life and after death you are my queen; for with my death the whole truth shall be seen. Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly; their beauty shakes me who was once serene; straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen’,” I recite, hoping that the king favors Chaucer.

The king takes my hand and kisses it a second time. “A true delight you are, my Lady Elizabeth, Duchess of Gifford,” he tells me. He peers round my frame then, and sees little Stewie standing there with Lady Elizabeth. “And this must be your little boy. What do they call you, little one?”

“Lord Edward, Your Majesty,” Stewie replies, flashing the king a smile.

“He’s quite civil, Elizabeth,” the king tells me. “But I am quite sure that you were brought here to serve my wife.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I reply.

“Shall we go to her, then?” the king asks.

. . .

Brian and I are given rooms together—a suite of rooms, really, as befits our false station as a duke and duchess. Stewie is permitted to remain in one of the nursery rooms, and will be permitted to play and learn with Lady Elizabeth. Queen Jane welcomed me into her fold, but she reminded me of a lamb who has never seen the outside world. Brian and I were also bestowed trunks full of gowns and jewels and furs for me and full of doublets, hose, shirts, and boots for Brian. I find that Brian fancies himself quite the rogue and prefers to wear the dashing hats with a feather plum of the period at an angle.

The king has informed us of the grand masked ball that is to happen that evening, and one of Queen Jane’s lowlier servants delivers our masks to the pair of us a couple of hours before the festivities. Brian and I were informed not to reveal what costumes we are to wear that evening, and not to show off our masks to one another, but I know it will not be difficult to figure out just who Brian is, due to the men at court being at least five feet tall, and, up against his barely three-feet-tall frame.

“Really quick, thinking on your feet like that,” Brian tells me softly just before we’re due to ready ourselves for the night.

I blink but don’t allow myself to turn towards him. “Wow, a compliment,” I reply sarcastically to him. “Who would have thought you were capable of such kindness to your lady wife, my lord?” I asked him. “There are no words… They should have sent a poet to express my gratitude towards you at this very moment…”

“I guess I deserve that,” Brian says quietly.

“What do you mean?”

He sighs then, and I permit myself to look over at him. “I know you know who Jillian is, Vivienne,” he says. “I know Stewie must have said something…”

“We live in an age with Facebook, Brian,” I reply. “Naturally I stalked your profile between classes and discovered that you’re still Facebook friends with her. Did you know that I can look at your guys’ friendship?” I ask. “Lots of old photos on there… Did Stewie really share an apartment with you guys?”

Brian nods. “Yes.”

I sigh. “You may want to check out the photos he posted,” I tell him. “You got drunk a lot and let’s just say, he may have posted some of himself as a French maid, Santa’s helper, and a sexy nurse…”

“I believe you.”

“He sure does like his hair and make-up, doesn’t he?” I ask.

Brian smirks. “Well, he _did_ impersonate a female baby actress in order to be the star on _Jolly Farm Revue_,” he tells me.

“That was Stewie?!” I cry out, giggling a little. “His Desmond Sunflower routine made the YouTube billionth mark within hours of its posting! Apparently, one of the production crew leaked it, but nobody could figure out who…”

“He’s quite a guy,” Brian says. “His dad—you remember Peter—used to be my best friend but I don’t know… Stewie kind of filled his shoes a while back…”

“I just don’t want to come between you,” I confess. “I mean, I genuinely like all of these adventures we have together. I mean, of course it’s only adventure number two now, but I suppose it’s…nice to have friends.”

“Oh, I know you won’t replace me, Vivienne,” Brian replies, not unkindly. “I think it’s good that Stewie now has a positive female influence.”

“Lois and Meg aren’t?” I want to know.

“Lois may be hot, but she’s very self-absorbed and an immature woman,” Brian tells me honestly. “And Meg? She may look like a complete dumpster fire, but inside, she thinks that people choose to be gay, and she is always talking about abortions…”

“You’re pro-life?” I want to know.

“No, of course not,” Brian replies. “But what I mean is, I think she just does it for some sick form of attention. Peter and Lois don’t give a shit about her, and Stewie barely tolerates her as it is. Chris and her take baths together, but…”

“Chris?” I ask. “Oh. That weird brother. Stewie says he spends a lot of time holed up in his bedroom, but I suppose that’s why computers were invented…”

Brian chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right…”

“If you got to pick where we go next with Stewie, where would you want to go?” I ask him, genuinely curious.

“To meet Shakespeare, I guess,” Brian replies, shrugging. “I don’t know…”

I nod. “Well, this was my first choice,” I admit to him. “My second one would probably be in the 1980’s. We could start a band,” I say, letting out a laugh.

“You’re pretty cute when you laugh,” Brian says softly.

I look away. “No, I’m not…cute.”

“Right. Sorry. You’re beautiful.”

I feel my cheeks heat. “No. I’m not that particular adjective either…”

There is a knock upon the door then and a young lady and young man enter, both bowing and curtsying to the two of us. They explain that they are here to assist us in dressing for the entertainment that evening, and, as soon as we are ready, we will leave one another to join the king and queen respectively. I promptly move to go towards the room where my costume is, but the lady stops me.

“Forgive me, Lady Shaw, but won’t you bid farewell to your husband?”

“I…” I turn and look at Brian with raised eyebrows.

He smirks at me and crossed towards me, taking my hands in his. I see he is going to kiss my cheek, but I think, _Oh no, it’s my turn_, and quickly make a grab for his face. I plant one on him good, because I can hear the tell-tale swish of a dog’s tail wagging.

Pulling back, I whisper to him, “Be sure to pick me tonight, you won’t be sorry,” and slip into the other room to get dressed.

My costume that evening is a rich gown of pink velvet, and where my waist’s fabric comes to a point, is separates, causing the skirts to part in a triangle shape, revealing a pattern of flowers beneath. Under my bodice, the same pattern of flowers is, while the bell-shaped sleeves hang down, revealing even more flower patterns. The bodice itself is square-cut and studded with pearls, while the skirt has a bit of a train to it and the sleeves, beneath the flower pattern, has a generous bit of sable—a kind of rich fur—sewn to it.

I am properly laced into the dress and stockings are put on my legs, and I am bidden to put my feet inside some pink dancing slippers with heels about one to two inches high. My hair is brushed out, long and wavy, down my back, and something that the young woman calls a headpiece is put on—you guessed it—my head. It is a black velvet, soft to the touch, with a gold piece sewn onto it; pearls stud its surface and, in its center just above my forehead, there is a ruby and, attached to the center of it all, coming to rest upon my forehead, is a very attractive pearl drop.

The woman puts some form of lipstick, blush, and eye makeup on me and puts a necklace about my neck and various decorative rings upon my fingers. My mask is white with gold etching and ties under my headpiece, oddly remaining in place despite my movements. The woman clasps her hands at her creation and shows me the other door, telling me to go down the corridor and to the left, where I will find myself at the queen’s rooms.

I do exactly as I am told. I depart my chambers and walk down the corridor, and make my way to the left, where I see a great many other ladies and waiting awaiting the presence of the queen herself. One woman slowly walked toward me, and she gave me a curtsy and smiled from beneath her mask. I do my best to curtsy as well, and find relief within me when I do not fall.

“Catherine Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk,” she says politely. “You’re Elizabeth Shaw, the Duchess of Gifford, aren’t you?” she asks.

“Yes, I am, Lady Catherine,” I reply. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Not many duchesses about these days,” she confides in me. “You’re not very old, are you?” she wants to know.

I giggle at that. “No, I’m twenty-one years of age.”

“I am seventeen,” she replies. “My husband and I are quite happy. I’m told you have a son as well?”

I nod. “Yes. Edward.”

“My boys are Henry and Charles. Perhaps they will be friends.”

I nod as the queen comes out of her rooms. She smiles at all of us and, at her nod, we all follow her down to the great hall. The king has arrived first and, as soon as we enter the place, he crows like a little boy and claps for attention. Taking Queen Jane’s hand, he orders music and dancing to commence.

He leads the queen out for the first dance and I watch to see what appears to be Lady Catherine’s husband leading her out. I don’t see Brian in the crowd, but accept another gentleman’s dance anyhow. He tells me that his name is Henry Howard, and that he is the Earl of Surrey. He tells me that his wife, Frances, who I know to be the daughter of the Earl of Oxford, is with their little son, Thomas, who is quite ill that night.

“Pleased to meet you,” I tell him, and allow him to kiss my hand as soon as our dance has ended.

“You are a noble lady?” he asks, leading me back to the other ladies.

“Noble, yes,” I reply. “But my name you shall not have.”

He chuckles at that and leads out another lady to dance, while another young man claims me for his partner. He tells me that he is the heir to the Earl of Oxford, making him the Earl of Surrey’s brother-in-law. I smile and allow him to ask me a question, “Are you a high-born lady?”

“I believe I am,” I reply at the end of the dance, where he leads me back to where Lady Catherine is awaiting me.

“The Earl of Surrey, and John de Vere have claimed you as their partners,” she says breathlessly, all atwitter. “Perhaps, if neither parties were married…”

I shrug at that and stand back, allowing other ladies to be chosen. A few moments later, a new chord is struck, and a dashing-looking young man approaches us. He looks to be about seven years older than myself, and I allow him to claim me for a dance. His eyes are dark and he sports a closely cropped, bright red beard, which quite reminds me of a friendly cardinal.

“Sir Thomas Seymour,” he tells me amiably.

“Brother of Queen Jane, how delighted I am to make your better acquaintance,” I tell him smoothly.

We chat for a time and, though finding that I am quite enjoying his company, I remember not to reveal my true identity to him, nor my false one. Finally, the king bids the court to unmask, and Sir Thomas does so effortlessly, revealing quite a handsome face. I lower my eyes, and allow him to reach out to untie the silk ribbons upon my mask. He does so, making quick work of it, and lowers the material from my face.

“Ah, the Duchess of Gifford,” he says fondly, not at all disappointed. “Perhaps I might have a word with you?”

I blink, shocked that he would want a word with me. “Yes, of course, Sir Thomas,” I reply, and follow him out into the corridor. As we walk along, he says nothing for a time, and I wonder what it is he wants. Just as I am about to ask him, he makes a grab for me then and leans down to kiss me.

His beard slightly tickles my lips and I find myself not averse to his touch. I allow him to encircle his arms around me, and find myself tangling my fingers in his hair. He cups my face, and I am pleased that his hands are quite soft. His mouth opens slowly, hesitantly, under mine, and I bring my tongue close to meet his.

“What are we doing?” I whisper as his lips descend onto my neck. I shut my eyes and let out a small sigh. “Sir Thomas…I am married…”

His lips rise back up to kiss me again. “I care not,” comes his reply, as he leaves bites up and down my neck and jawline.

“How would your sister, the queen, feel about this?” I reply. “I am, after all, her property, and now that she is queen, you do not share such things…”

“I want you, Elizabeth Shaw,” he says to that. “Body and soul, I _want _you. I care not for your husband the duke—you’ve married a dwarf, and how you managed to get yourself with child I will never know. Come away with me, Elizabeth…”

“I’ve only just met you,” I reply, rationally.

“Well, then perhaps you can be persuaded,” he replies, reaching downward to hike up my skirts in a swift movement.

Knowing what he is doing, I attempt to push his hands away. “Sir Thomas, no! We cannot!” I cry out, but he shoves his hand against my mouth, my head slamming into the wall. I want to bite at him, to kick at him, as the tears enter my eyes. I will not allow him his desires. I will not allow him to—

He rips my stockings and undoes his codpiece, and slowly dangles himself before me, a chuckle at the back of his throat. Looking upwards at him then, I realize that he resembles Quagmire completely, and wonder if there is a family connection there. Fear at the back of my throat, I know there is only one way to stop him.

I reach out with my foot as he laughs, and deliver a swift kick to his balls, which sends the man doubling over in pain. I want desperately to spit at him, to kick him, to berate him, but I merely straighten my skirts and run off. I manage to find the royal nursery and give Stewie a look, and he turns to the Lady Elizabeth.

“Sorry, babe, gotta go,” he says, walking away from her. “Day was amazing, though…”

“But, Edward,” says the Lady Elizabeth, “do not leave me…”

Stewie chuckles and slaps her ass. “Don’t worry babe, I’ll come back.” He raises his arms up and I grab him, making my way out of the nursery. “God who grabbed you and got a little too friendly?” he asks.

“Sir Thomas Seymour.”

“Did he…?”

“No.”

“Good.” Stewie pulls out the device and presses some buttons. “I installed a pretty helpful GPS on here,” he tells me. “Thankfully it works… Ah! There we are. It seems as though Brian has returned to your rooms…”

We enter the rooms that had been given to us and hear giggling from the next room. I nearly drop Stewie in shock. After giving me a rude look, Stewie goes across the room to open the bedroom door.

“Oh, for the love of…” He pulls out a gun and grabs a pillow, shooting it off once.

“Hey!” cries Brian, while the woman lets out a small shout.

“Get the fuck outta here!” Stewie screams. “Get the fuck out of this room! Go have sex with the king, or whatever, but get the hell out!”

The woman makes an effort to compose herself before making a grab for her dress, stockings, shoes, and other accessories before running from there.

“Stewie, what the hell?!” Brian demands, getting to his feet and throwing on his garments and shooting him a death glare. “We were just getting to the good part!” Looking me over then, Brian chuckles. “Did you get some action?”

I step forward and slap him. “You sick son of a bitch! Because you weren’t there to protect me, I was almost raped because of you!”

Brian cups his cheek where I slapped him. “What? What the hell happened?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” I spit back at him. “I’m not your real wife!”

“Okay, let’s go,” Stewie says in a subdued voice, throwing his return pad onto the ground and guiding us both onto it.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re my wife or not!” Brian says desperately. “I still consider you a friend and you fall into the category of people I care about…!”

“Brian, I am so done!” I say, throwing up my hands as Stewie pressed the return to original location button. The white light envelopes us, and we are transported back to Stewie’s bedroom, where we walk out of the time machine. Thankful to be back in my jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, I squeeze Stewie’s hand briefly before leaving his bedroom entirely, making my way to the stairs.

“Vivienne, come back here!” Brian cries out.

“No!” I shout back, getting to the base of the stairs and walking towards the front door.

“Brian, stop!” Stewie cries, running after him.

“Vivienne!” Brian whines.

“Leave me alone!” I shout, leaving the house and heading to the edge of the sidewalk and checking for cars. Finding none, I walk across the street.

“Vivienne!”

“No!” I make my way into the garage and pull down the trap door, the stairs making their appearance as I climb them. As soon as I’m up, I slam the door shut and lock it. Almost instantly, I hear claws scratching at it. “No! Stop scratching at the door!”

“Okay,” comes the dejected reply, and the retreating sound of footsteps.

I walk towards the window, where I have a clear view of a bit of Spooner Street and the Griffin house, where I see Brian walking across the street. Part of me wants to push open the window, to yell for him to come back so we can talk about this, but I don’t. I put my hand against the cool glass and watch him walk, head bent, ears and tail down, into the house, where he shuts the door softly, leaving me feeling completely empty inside, as I begin to adjudge my existence.


	3. That’s Not Good Enough For Me

I forced myself not to think about Brian for the next several weeks. Stewie and I kept in touch and he frequently snuck out of the house in order to come and see me in the garage apartment. We would stay up late and mainly discuss how unfortunate it was that sitcoms that were deemed appropriate for children would put the laugh track on whenever someone was in physical, mental, or emotional pain. Stewie would habitually ask me to come on another time travel adventure with him and Brian, but I declined time and time again, explaining to Stewie that Brian and I had differences that couldn’t simply be solved by one little apology.

Three weeks before Christmas, Rhode Island College went on their holiday break. I helped with the Browns’ preparations, decorating the house and such, and was touched when they told me that I could have my own little tree in my apartment. Donna took me shopping for winter clothing—snow boots, mainly—and some Christmas decorations. We took Rallo to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap, which is where we ran into the Griffins.

“Oh, Donna, so great to see you!” Lois cried in her enthusiastic voice. “How are you? How are your Christmas plans going?”

“Really well, thank you, Lois,” Donna replied. “Why don’t we get some coffee?”

“Well, that sounds nice,” Lois said happily. “Maybe you could take Rallo and Stewie to see Santa with Brian?” she asked me.

“Of course, Lois,” I replied, taking Stewie from her and telling Rallo to hold my other hand as we walked along.

“Lois, and I get hot chocolate, right?” I hear Peter ask.

“Yes, Peter, you get hot chocolate,” Lois replies, slightly exasperated.

“With the little marshmallows?”

“Yes, Peter, with the little marshmallows…”

“And whipped cream? And chocolate sauce on the whipped cream? And that peppermint stick that you can only have when it’s Christmas?” Peter cries.

“Yes, Peter! Yes! All of those things!” Lois cries out.

“Yay!” Peter cries, and then we’re out of ear shot.

“Are you going to say anything to me?” Brian said quietly.

I shrugged. “What would you like me to say to you?”

“My nanny is fine,” Rallo said, giving Brian a hard look. “Y’all better not make her cry again. I can hear everything that goes on in that apartment of hers. She been crying for the last several weeks, all ‘cuz ‘a you.”

Brian gave Rallo a horrified expression and turned back to me. “Vivienne, really, I didn’t know,” he said. “I mean, dogs have great hearing, and I’ve been listening for you… And it really sucks to smell you on Stewie…”

“Okay, Brian, that’s enough,” Stewie said. “Let’s not even go there. Of course, I’ve been able to sit in her lap…”

“Well, we’ve kissed twice!” Brian said.

“Twice?!” demanded Stewie, turning about in my arms and giving me a shocked look. “I was only aware of the two of you kissing in China!”

“Is that some kinda game?” Rallo asks.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, a game,” Stewie says in an annoyed voice. “Oh, look, there’s Santa, and without a line. Why don’t you go and tell him what you want, you Boondocks rip-off?”

Rallo gives a sad expression briefly before obeying Stewie.

“In all seriousness, both of you, you kissed again?” Stewie asks.

“Yes, but it obviously didn’t mean anything,” I say quickly, before Brian can answer for either of us. “Given that he got some whore into bed with him after that…”

“That’s not how it happened!” Brian cried, putting a paw out to stop me and making me nearly drop Stewie in the process. “That’s not it at all.”

“Brian, do be careful!” Stewie scolds, making his way back into my arms. “Why can’t you simply allow Vivienne to go her own way?”

“Because, I… I don’t know…”

“She rejected you and, therefore, you cannot allow yourself to simply forget about her. Face it, Brian, you’re obsessed with her.”

“Standing right here,” I say, trying my best not to roll my eyes.

Brian’s eyes light up then and he makes a grab for Stewie, who proceeds to protest, but it is shocking when Brian covers his mouth. “Stewie and I have to go now…”

“But I don’t _want_ to go yet!” Stewie cries impatiently. “I want to tell Santa what I want for Christmas!” he cries out.

“I’ll take you next weekend, I promise,” Brian says, proceeding to walk away. “I’ll text Lois and tell her I have him,” Brian calls over his shoulder at me.

Warily, I nod and turn to see Rallo finally making his way up to Santa. He climbs onto his lap and Santa smiles at the camera. Rallo then hops down and I hand over a twenty-dollar bill to one of the attending elves. Rallo stands by patiently as I write down the Brown’s address for the package to be delivered on the twenty-second of December. Then the pair of us turn around and head to Starbucks, to get Rallo a hot chocolate.

I am permitted to go shopping in the various shops, as I drove myself there that afternoon, and am excused from nanny duty for the rest of the day. I go to Nordstrom and buy a purse that I know Roberta wanted for Christmas. Roberta has been extremely friendly to me of late and I know it is because of allowing her to drive my car on some weekends. Donna and Cleveland are surprisingly okay with it, and I know that peace, harmony, comfort, and joy are what is wanted in the household nowadays.

Cleveland Jr. has expressed interests in various spy type things, so I get him a box set of what Barnes & Noble claims are the greatest James Bond films. I get Cleveland a new bean bag, because he’s been complaining about Rallo skinning his old one. For Donna, I get a collection of bath salts, bombs, and other things, all done up in a beautiful gift basket, from Bed, Bath, and Beyond. For Rallo, I get something entirely different.

I head to the local animal shelter across town to pick out a puppy. When Cleveland first returned to Stool Bend, Virginia, on a road trip with Cleveland Jr. to move to California, he ran into Donna, who had been his best friend—and the woman he loved—during his high school years. Donna had left her husband—the father of Roberta and Rallo—and she and Cleveland seemed to be getting along so well that Cleveland agreed to remain in Virginia to help Roberta and Rallo shape up. However, Donna asked for her ex-husband Robert to be back in their lives, which broke Cleveland’s heart. However, all had turned out well, and Cleveland and Donna were married. However, Rallo’s beloved dog, Meadowlark Lemon, was accidentally run over by Cleveland. I would remedy that.

Stepping inside, I explained the living situation, and that I was the nanny, and handed over the consent forms and contact information for Donna and Cleveland. After running their names—and mine—in the computer, and finding nothing, the kind salesman agreed to allow me to look at their puppies. I walked by cage after cage, studying each and every animal accordingly and in turn, when I came to a stop by the golden retriever puppy cage. One brave puppy got to its feet and walked towards me, whimpering softly.

“That’s gotta be Elsa,” the salesman informs me. “Very sweet. She does really well when the little ones come in. How old did you say the little boy was?”

“He’s five,” I reply.

He nods. “Well, since it’s the end of the year, everyone wants a puppy. These ones are a thousand a piece. Will that be a problem?”

“No,” I reply, handing over the credit card used for purchases that Donna and Cleveland approved of. “Here you are.”

The salesman nods and bends down to pick up Elsa. “We have a fine selection of collars over on that wall, and leashes,” he tells me. “There’s some toys over there too, and a good selection of beds as well.”

I pick out a pink, rhinestone studded collar and get a license printed up for her, with just the address for now in case they want to change her name. I pick out a pink puppy bed that is cute and comfortable but small enough—for now, at least—that she will probably want to sleep in bed with Rallo. I also get the official doggie seatbelt so she can ride safely in my car, and pick out a handful of cute toys. My credit card is run through the system, accepted, and I hitch Elsa onto the leash and take her out of there. We walk down the street to my car, where I install the seat belt and gently secure her to it.

We drive down the main street while I crack the window a bit for her so as she will be able to become more aware of her surroundings. After a few more turned corners, we arrive back on Spooner Street and I open the garage, feeling pleased when I see both Donna’s and Cleveland’s cars there. I unhitch Elsa from the seatbelt, making a mental note to remove it from my car later, and grab the bag of things I bought for her. We journey inside the house, where I see Donna and Cleveland, and their eyes melt at the sight of her.

“Roberta! Cleveland Jr.! Rallo! Come downstairs, please!” Donna calls as the pair of them move into the living room. “She’s adorable,” Donna whispers as Cleveland reaches out to scratch her behind her ear.

The kids troop down the stairs and all their eyes widen. I bend down to Rallo’s level and nod for him to take her. “Merry early Christmas,” I say to him.

Rallo lets out a small shriek but quickly calms down so as not to disturb his new friend. “Did she have a name?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes, Elsa, but you can…”

“Hell naw,” he says. “I wanna keep that name. She looks like a queen already.”

“Rallo, what do you say to Vivienne?” asks Donna.

“Thank you, Vivienne!” he cries out, standing on his toes and kissing my cheek. “Come on now, Elsa. I’ll show you my room.” Rallo dashes upstairs and I am surrounded by thank-you’s from all sides. I am appreciative of their kind words, but I excuse myself to go an order some Christmas presents for my family online.

I wonder, as I climb the stairs to my garage apartment, if my family will even send me any form of greetings that year…

. . .

After over an hour of online shopping, I get up from my laptop and stretch a little. I go over to the kitchen where my phone is charging on the island to get a snack when I see the incoming message button flashing. Picking it up and unlocking it, I see two missed calls from Stewie, along with a slew on unanswered text messages. Curious, I press the green phone icon.

“Stewie?”

“Vivienne! Finally. Pull me up on your Skype. I need to talk to you. Brian was beginning to become a nuisance.”

“Was he now?” I reply, doing my best to keep the contempt from my tone as I walk over to my laptop again. “What is it this time? Is he hooking up with Meg?”

“No, that was at her junior prom,” Stewie replies like it’s not even a big deal as I press the Skype call button. “Lois and the Fat Man went to their bi-monthly visit to her parents’ home in Newport, about an hour away, and took Meg and Chris with them.”

“Why didn’t you go?” I want to know, finally managing to connect with him as we promptly hang up our phones.

“I don’t like it much there,” Stewie tells me. “They don’t have any proper candy, and it’s such an old people house. They think I have their taste in music and I’m not allowed out of Lois’s sight. I don’t understand how she managed to grow up there…”

“How did you get out of it?” I ask.

“Pretended I had a cough,” he tells me. “Brian doesn’t really get along with either of Lois’s parents because of a particular incident…”

“What kind of an incident?”

“Well, we were staying with them and the Fat Man and Lois’s father inexplicably became friends, I don’t remember why… I think he managed to ‘culture’ himself. Anyhow, Lois’s father introduced Brian to Seabreeze, who was his prize-winning race dog and formally the heir to all his money. We went the racetrack one afternoon and Brian ended up violating her right there on the tack,” he goes on. “She was then discovered to be pregnant—”

“Wait! Brian’s a father?!” I demand.

“Yes, but not to Seabreeze’s puppies,” Stewie replies. “He had a girlfriend a few years back named Tracy Flannigan who had a son named Dylan who is Brian’s son. Quite a body on that teenager… Got to share a room with him when he lived with us.”

“What happened?” I want to know, desperate.

“Oh, well I merely suggested that he take part in a naked tea party with me,” Stewie tells me conversationally. “He called me weird, whereupon I expressed my interest in his looks, and demanded that he take his pants off. He left, and I just felt so rejected that I began my cough syrup addiction…”

“No, no, no, I mean with Dylan,” I say.

“Oh. He did a Disney Channel show for a while. Haven’t seen him since, though.”

“So Brian has a son?”

“Yes, along with a litter of puppy/humans I conceived a while back,” he says. “We had seven but a few of them passed away—one from a lawnmower, one from drowning… A tragic part of our lives. We later gave them to an animal shelter.”

“Stewie, why are we talking again?” I ask.

“Oh, am I boring you?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. Sorry. I just hate the holidays…”

“Well, I have just the thing to cheer you up. Come over.”

“Stewie, I really think that…”

“Vivienne, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Come over, please.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

“Good. See you soon,” Stewie says, ending the Skype call.

I quickly dash to the bathroom, where I splash some water on my face and stare at myself in the mirror, my violet eyes looking back at me. I find myself biting my lip, but quickly force myself to snap out of it. “Okay, Shaw, you don’t care about him,” I tell my reflection. “You don’t give a damn… You don’t give a fuck about Brian Griffin. He’s just another man on whatever missions Stewie has planned out for you. Okay…”

I look at the rest of me, and at my house clothes—sweat pants and a baggy shirt, along with my hair all up in a messed up ponytail. Rolling my eyes, I take it down and brush it before making a grab for my best jeans and a cute top. I slip my feet into my sneakers and grab a sweater as I go down the stairs and head across the street.

Stewie promptly opens the front door and pulls me inside without ceremony, and drags me up the stairs, where we end up in his bedroom. Brian is sitting at Stewie’s play table in the middle of the room, while the time machine is out and waiting for the two of us. Stewie nods to Brian and makes a grab for his control pad and presses a series of buttons and codes so as the time machine opens before us. We all step inside as Stewie keys in a September date in the year 1979, putting in the location of California.

The white light forms around us and soon, we are standing in the hot air of the California desert, and a sign informs us that we are close to Los Angeles. Stewie makes a mention of over shooting something and tries again, this time landing us in a side street of L.A. I feel totally out of my element, probably due to my skin-tight David Bowie T-shirt and my odd-feeling jeans. I had black Converse All-Star’s on my feet and I felt something oddly-shaped in my pocket. Taking it out and finding that it was a pocket mirror, I found heavy make-up on my face, along with a flared, shag haircut.

“Holy shit, did you upgrade your system?!” I demand, turning to Stewie.

“Apparently,” Stewie replies, trying to get the hang of his slicked back hair.

Both Brian and Stewie wore informal suits, while I looked like some junkie that belonged on a corner somewhere.

“We have a meeting,” Stewie tells me, nodding at Brian, who in turn steps out of the alley and proceeds to sniff the air.

“This way,” Brian tells us, taking off down the street.

Reluctantly, I allow Stewie to take my hand and to follow him. We end up at some nondescript office building, where I am promptly pulled inside and all but thrown at the desk before us.

“We have a meeting,” Brian says in a rather important-sounding tone. “Should be under the name of Brian Steel.”

“Yes, of course,” replies the receptionist, thumbing through an ancient-looking appointment book. “Ah, here we are. He’s waiting for you. Head right in.”

“He?!” I hiss at Stewie as we keep walking. “He who?!”

We go into the office where an imposing-looking man nods for Brian to shut the door behind us and we do, whereupon we sit down. He puts out his hand. “James Hartford,” he says in an authoritative tone. “Brian Steel?”

“That’s me,” Brian replies. “These are my associates, Stuart Mansfield and Augustine Scarlett,” he says, and I wonder how the hell he knew my middle name. “Augustine is the hottest singer since Joan Jett, and I think you should give her a shot.”

I feel rooted to my chair. First he knows my middle name, and now he knows about my passion for Joan Jett. I couldn’t believe this. I seriously wanted to have sharp words with him, but at the same time, I thought it was so sweet, what he was doing…

“Everyone thinks that they’re the next Joan Jett or David Bowie or Cherie Currie,” says James Hartford, almost as if he thinks we’re wasting his time.

I hear a humming from behind the wall, and my gut tells me that there is a studio space behind it. As James goes on and on about how I probably don’t have what it takes, I get to my feet and throw open the door, revealing a studio space with two men working. They are shocked when I go into the booth, shutting the door behind me. I put the headphones on and look down at the lyrics on the stand, and notice that it is _I Just Fall in Love Again_ by The Carpenters, and made even more famous that year by Anne Murray, who I know that Stewie and Brian are fans of, despite a brief, albeit disturbing, misunderstanding that Stewie had with her.

“Play a new track,” I say before anyone can stop, and James looks as if he is feeling a mixture of anger and expectant. One of the men presses the record button, and the intro music fills my ears, and suddenly, my voice takes off… “‘Dreaming, I must be dreaming, or am I really lying here with you? Baby, you take me in your arms, and though I'm wide awake, I know my dream is coming true… And, oh, I just fall in love again. Just one touch and then it happens every time. There I go, I just fall in love again and when I do, I can't help myself, I fall in love with you… Magic, it must be magic, the way I hold you and the night just seems to fly. Easy for you to take me to a star, heaven is that moment when I look into your eyes… And, oh, I just fall in love again. Just one touch and then it happens every time. There I go, I just fall in love again and when I do, I can't help myself, I fall in love with you…I can't help myself, I fall in love with you,’” I finish, feeling tears pricking at my eyes in sheer awe at the power these words have, and, slowly, I allow myself to raise my eyes towards James.

He steps forward and opens the door, motioning for me to take off the headphones and I think, for a moment, that he will ask me to leave the premises, or that security will throw me into some back alley place. But instead, he steps forward and looks into my face, almost as if he is looking at me for the first time. “Augustine Scarlett?” he asks.

“Yes, Mr. Hartford?” I ask him.

“I need you to sing me some more songs because you are going places,” he says, letting out a chuckle at his candidness. “How old did you say you were?”

“She’s eighteen,” Stewie says, stepping forward and handing over what appears to be a 1970’s rendition of a driver’s license.

James checks it briefly and nods. “Where are your parents?”

“They died some time ago,” Stewie tells him. “I’m her brother. We took different surnames in honor of keeping our distance, at first, but now we find we work well together.”

“Fine, fine,” James says, turning back to me. “Any other song ideas?”

“Well, Brian and Stuart could sing a cover of _Dust in the Wind_ by Kansas,” I suggest. “And I could sing _Hopelessly Devoted to You_, and Brian and I could duet _You’re the One That I Want_… And maybe we could write some songs of our own…”

“Sounds good,” James says and waits until Stewie and Brian have begun a conversation of their own before he steps closer to me. “You and Brian… You’re not…? I mean the two of you, you’re not…? Are you dating?”

I raise my eyebrows at him. He was cute, when he wasn’t being so rough around the edges, and looked to be in his mid-twenties. “No, we’re not,” I reply.

He nods at that, looking me up and down. “Keep it that way.”

. . .

James cuts us a several hundred-dollar check for the session that afternoon and sets us up in a swanky hotel suite in Downtown L.A. Stewie immediately insists that we go shopping, and each of us buy several outfits for every occasion. Soon, after we are outfitted, we are called back to the studio for another session, and then it is time for dinner. James invites us out to some unknown—to us, anyway—VIP club in Beverley Hills where we all have a gourmet dinner and partake in dancing.

James introduces us to several friends in the music industry, and many people seem interested in why he was keeping me hidden. James laughs the question away and I wonder if he will tell them how I just marched into the recording studio and took over. I see Brian drinking at the bar, plastering a smile on his face, while Stewie tries his best to keep him away from whiskey, beer, and martinis.

Stewie tells me that the timeline that we left won’t continue without us, so we could spend weeks at a time here. I soon find myself adjusting to that life—no cell phone, no laptop, no modern technology of any kind—and find myself at peace. I don’t miss any of my old life, and although I enjoyed my job with the Browns’, I contemplate remaining here, because James is so kind to me and I love to sing. I only sang when I was happy back home, which was usually when my parents weren’t around, because they claimed it was just noise, which made me insecure, which caused my voice to squeak, aggravating them even more than they were before.

Within a few weeks of living in the late 1970’s, we are back a couple of weeks before Christmas, where James surprises me with telling me that I will play a big pop show for a classy New Year’s party. By this time, Stewie, Brian, and I have written some of our own songs, all of which James likes. His favorite seems to be one I’ve written called _Winged Dove_, which I must go over in the recording studio that day.

I make sure that the recording guys, Mike and Joey, have the track in the machine, and I put on my headphones. We have Brian on lead guitar and Stewie on keyboard guitar, while we have someone named Greg on bass guitar while I have lead vocals. As the guitars enter, Stewie plays his version of a ballad, which is just how _Winged Dove_ begins. I force myself not to breathe into the microphone directly as I begin to sing.

“Shattered, I’ve come undone. I cannot remember when I last thought of you. I remember when it was all games and fun, but now I see that you make everything blue,” I say, wanting desperately to get the point across. “Why can’t I change myself, to make myself appealing, because, my love, I know that it’s all beginning to become blind. Why can’t you just be my winged dove, who swoops in just in time? He wants to claim me as his own, yet I feel so alone, for I know that things are not like they were before. Your actions hold me back; your words tie me there. My thoughts are a messy web, and I cannot make them ebb. I feel bound to you, as I do to the winged dove, who wants to swoop in just in time. Can’t you see, my love, that I can’t do this anymore? You keep me bound to you, chained to the floor. All I want to do is go on, far and away, but I feel I must do everything you say. Can’t you see my dreams, my love, like the winged dove? Who can’t seem to swoop in, to save me, never more?”

“Great, Augustine, let’s take a break,” Mike says.

“Thanks,” I say, taking off my headphones and running out of there. I run down the hallway and feel relief at the air conditioning. I lean up against the cool wall, the cool concrete making my hot skin feel better, and find that I am at a loss of what to do.

“Teen,” James says, dashing down the hallway after me, calling me by the pet name he’s been calling me for weeks, that inexplicably has an endearing quality to it. “Whoa, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?! Are you all right?!”

“Yeah, fine,” I say quickly, looking away and dashing the tears out of my eyes. “Just needed some air.”

“You’ve been crying,” James says, not unkindly, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

I nod. “Yeah. I just miss my parents whenever I sing sad songs.”

He nods back like he understands. “You and Brian really aren’t dating?”

My eyebrows knit together at that as I turn to face him. “No, James, I said no. Why would anyone want to date someone like me?”

“Because you’re talented, beautiful, intelligent… There are so many reasons why lots of men would want to date you, Teen,” he replies. “A lot of reasons.”

I feel my breath come in a sharp, yet soft, gasp, as I realize his close proximity to me. I find that I don’t want him to move away from me, and I move to touch his hand, still resting innocently upon my shoulder. With his other hand, he moves to gently cup my face, and I lean into his hand, all the while my eyes never leaving his face. He leans down his head, slowly, gentlemanly, and then his lips chastely brush mine. The touch of his lips on mine sends electric shocks all through my body, and I am tempted to grab him by his shirt collar and to yank him into a passionate kiss.

But I don’t. I don’t do anything of the sort. I communicate such thoughts to him with my eyes, but he doesn’t take the bait. He sighs like he believes I’m not interested, and moves to turn away from me. _No_, I think to myself, _don’t go_…

“James,” I say, softly, desperately, and pull him back towards me. Our noses touch, and we each share a laugh before we realize, again, just how close we are. “James…” I whisper, this time permitting myself to communicate—verbally—my wanting of him. He smiles a little, and my knees go weak at the sight of his dimples. He leans down and kisses me, for real this time, sweeping me up into his arms like a winged dove. My mouth opens up under his, and he takes it as a sign to move further, and does so, our tongues mingling in a dance party all their own.

We are so absorbed in one another that we don’t hear the telltale footsteps at the end of the hallway.

. . .

Other than rehearsals, I don’t see Brain at all, for he is always in the hotel bar. Stewie knows of my relationship with James, but doesn’t say anything negative about it. The week’s flit by faster and faster, taken up by rehearsals, formal dinners, Brian’s resentment and James courting me. And then, it is the night of the New Year’s concert.

I perform _Winged Dove_ as the opening and as an encore, both of which receive a standing ovation from the crowd. When I go offstage, I go into the hall to go and join James, but am shocked when I hear a guitar solo beginning onstage. Quickly, I go to join James, who is clapping and cheering along with the crowd, who is ogling Brian, center stage, singing a song that he presumably wrote, with Stewie singing backup and Greg playing along as well, and its words shoot guilt all through me.

“Daggers cut deep, wounds are meant to seep. But broken hearts will soon be on the mend,” Brian sings. “There’s no use believing in magic, there’s no more time to play pretend, for all we know about love will soon end. Don’t you worry about me, I know that my heart doesn’t come with a ribbon,” he continues.

“James!” I cry, tugging on his arm. “You know what he’s doing, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. He asked to do it,” James replies.

“But… I’m the lead singer, James. Why wasn’t I told?”

“The element of surprise, of course.”

“James, this isn’t like you. What happened to that sweet natured, considerate guy I’ve been seeing for the last few weeks?”

“Teen, I’m married. You must have known that you weren’t the first teenager I attempted to seduce.”

“Well, you failed, buster,” I reply. “I’m not a teenager. I’m twenty-one years old and my name is Vivienne Shaw. I would never sleep with you if you were the last low-life on earth.”

“You lied to me about who you were?!” he demands, his attention on me now.

“Damn right I did, and now that I know what your true character is, I’d do it again in a heartbeat! Get yourself another singer! I quit!” I say, slapping him across the face and storming out of there.

I walk out the back door of the place and stumble along the uneven concrete in my heels, trying my best to keep from crying. Although my mascara was waterproof, it was the 1970’s version of waterproof, so smudging still occurred when wet. It is just around the corner to the limo, and then I can go back to the hotel and sleep and, hopefully, Stewie and Brian will skip the after party so we can go home. I find that I cannot control my sobs any longer and begin to do so openly, just as it begins to rain. As we are in Pasadena, there is a gorgeous old clock tower, and I hear it chime midnight.

“Happy fucking New Year,” I say to myself, shaking my head in the downpour.

I hear a door bang behind me and a set of hurried, tiny footsteps, and then a familiar voice call, “Hey!” just as I am about to turn and run.

I hurry to the edge of the alley, hoping that I don’t have a stalker on my hands.

“Vivienne!”

“No!” I scream, nearly making it.

Then suddenly he’s grabbed me, and I am forced to turn and face him. “Vivienne, please listen to me!”

“Please, just leave me alone!” I sob.

“Vivienne, I need you to listen to me,” he says firmly. “Please. Just give me that. Just listen to me, and then if you don’t like what I have to say, then we can just get onto the return pad and go back to Quahog and forget this whole thing ever happened.”

“I can’t forget,” I say, wanting desperately to wipe the tears from my eyes as my voice proceeds to break. “I don’t want to forget…”

“Vivienne, I need to say it. I love you.”

I nearly stumble at his declaration. “What?”

“I love you. I’m in love with you. These weeks with James and you cavorting around really opened my eyes. Sure I was jealous as hell, but that wasn’t all of it. The root of my jealousy came from my feelings for you, and those feelings are those of love. I’m in love with you, Vivienne Shaw, and I want to devote my life to making myself a better man…dog…man for you, all for you.”

“Brian…” I whisper, new tears falling down my face.

“I know, but technically we met almost four months ago, and we’ve kissed twice, and we know each other. I intend to ask you out as soon as we’re back, but until then…”

I fall to my knees in front of him so that he is almost taller than me so that I can kiss him comfortably. He throws his arms around me and I do the same to him, as the rain falls down upon us, and as we find peace and love in that moment. As our lips part and as he stares at me in shock, I whisper, “I love you, too, Brian.”

. . .

Christmas in Quahog is a wonderful thing, and, as Brian’s official girlfriend, I am invited to be a part of Cleveland and Donna’s Christmas as well as Peter and Lois’s. I get Brian a sophisticated coat and scarf as well as a vintage writer’s satchel, which he is especially proud of, and will wear daily. Brian purchases a Tiffany necklace of angel wings, and we share a giggle at what they mean. Lois shoots me a jealous glare, and I wonder if our friendship will be challenged by my relationship with Brian.

“Probably,” Stewie tells me when I ask him about it on Boxing Day, when he escapes the chaos of the Griffin house, where they are disposing of their tree and putting all their decorations away.

“She’s married to Peter,” I reply, almost as if her being jealous isn’t justifiable. “Plus she’s Catholic… I mean, she’s hotter than I am…”

“Not really,” Stewie replies with a smile.

I stick my tongue out at him mockingly. “I mean, in all seriousness, Stewie, what does your mom have to be jealous about?”

Stewie sighs. “I’m surprised Brian hasn’t told you yet, and I’m close with both of you, so of course there’s a conflict of interest. Yet, I find I don’t care about that right now. Might as well tell you what Lois is reacting to.” He smooths his brow briefly before opening his eyes again, and nothing could have prepared me for the next thing that came out of his mouth. “Brian has supposedly been in love with Lois for years. They even got married once when the Fat Man and his buddies—Cleveland and Quagmire and I’m sure you’ll meet Joe, Bonnie’s husband, one of these days—were shipwrecked and thought to be dead, but nothing ever happened between them. He did hump her leg once after he volunteered to give the Fat Man his kidneys, but that’s another story…”

I feel my shoulders sag. “So… Who’s to say that he loves me at all? Maybe he just sees me as someone to get Lois.” I reach up around my neck and remove the Tiffany necklace which I hadn’t taken off since Brian had given it to me. “Could you please give this back to him for me, please?” I ask.

“Vivienne, I don’t want you to two break up…”

I smile at Stewie through my tears. “Until Brian is willing to give me the full story of his life, I can’t be with someone like him,” I reply simply. “Well, not the full story, but I always feel like he’s lying to me. If he really wants me, then he has to be honest.”

“But Vivienne…”

I touch his head briefly. “It’s all right, Stewie. I’m fine. Now, go and tell him, please.”


	4. Family Ties

Stewie, who had connected a live feed into the house which was connected to my laptop so as I could see what happened when he formally returned the necklace to Brian, was quite a show indeed. Brian looked shocked at what Stewie had reiterated to him, while Lois smirked in the background. Peter, Chris, and Meg, meanwhile, looked confused as hell, almost as if they would be lost if they ever had to go out into the real world.

I had another two weeks before classes began again, and I was quite shocked when my brother, Paul, called on Skype me right after Brian got word that I needed to take a break. I clicked the phone button and answered the call.

“Paul, hi,” I say, finding that I am smiling to myself. “How are you? And my sister-in-law? Oh and who could forget my two nieces and nephew?”

Sarah, Paul’s wife, came and sat beside Paul and waved. “Hey, Viv!” she called.

“Sarah!” I cried. “You look great!”

“So do you!” she giggled a little and turned to Paul. “Did you tell her?”

“I only just called her,” Paul replied, chuckling a bit.

Sarah rolled her blue eyes at my brother before turning back to me. “Well, little sister, you’re going to have another nephew,” she informs me.

I gasp and let out a squeal. “No freaking way!”

She nods. “Yes. Just found out the other day. The girls and little Felix are just so excited at the prospect of having another brother in the house…”

“How are the twins?” I ask, referring to my nieces. “Jackie and Daphne are doing better ever since that despicable Corrine Maxwell excluded them from that birthday of hers?”

“They’re much better,” Paul puts in.

“Loving those Barbie Dream houses you got them,” Sarah tells me, sighing and shaking her head. “They couldn’t have asked for a better aunt.”

“And Felix?” I want to know. “He loves that dinosaur whatever thing I got him?”

“Yes. The hottest toy on the market for little boys, apparently,” Paul says, a little too enthusiastically.

“Hey, let him play with it in peace,” I say, shaking my head at him.

“Do you get any vacation-vacation time?” Sarah wants to know. “That family you work for—they seem really nice. Can you come and spend the rest of your vacation with us?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. The mom, Donna, is spending ever opportunity she can with the kids before they go back to school in a few days. I’ll ask them.”

Sarah clapped her hands. “Good. We really miss you, and the guest bedroom has been very lonely without you.”

I smile at that. I’d moved in with them on my eighteenth birthday, getting as far away from my parents’ house as I could. Although they were my brother and sister-in-law respectively, they also helped me achieve my dreams, and were such a support network for me. “Thank you, Sar,” I say with a smile. “I’ll ask Donna tonight and let you know either tonight or tomorrow what the verdict is. There’s this guy that I’ve been seeing and I desperately need to get out of the neighborhood…”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Paul says, getting to his feet and walking out of the room entirely.

“Don’t mind him,” Sarah says, waving him away. “Who is this guy?”

“Brian, Brian Griffin,” I reply. “Your sister Irene, when she went through that self-help book phase bought that book of his _Wish It, Want It, Do It_.”

“He also wrote that novel that was on par with _Twilight_ in regards to its terrible nature?” my sister-in-law asks. “_Faster Than the Speed of Love_?”

I nod; don’t let Sarah’s pretty face fool you; she’s the youngest faculty member to ever make tenure at her work. She is a literature professor at the University of Washington.

“Yeah, that’s him,” I confirm.

“Well, we can gush all about it, assuming your boss lets you come,” she tells me. “Paul and I will take care of your air fare there and back—first class, of course,” she assures me, flashing me a smile.

I roll my eyes, laughing a little. “Okay, okay, I’ll see what I can do,” I reply.

. . .

Cleveland and Donna think that it’s wonderful that Paul and Sarah want to see me, so they allow me to go on the trip. Donna drives me to the airport that morning so that I don’t have to leave my car in the lot for two weeks and she hugs me goodbye. I tell her I’ll be back soon and tell her to send my love to Cleveland and the kids.

I check my large suitcase at the check-in and hand over my boarding passes for proper authorization by the airport staff. I keep my laptop case and my one carry-on bag close to me as I walk into the rather long security line, hoping that it won’t take very long. I have almost three hours until my flight takes off, and I know the staff does their best to be efficient, so I know everything will work out.

I grab a plastic tub and put my laptop case, carry-on bag, shoes, and the rest of the things that the scanner doesn’t deem appropriate before shoving it down to be examined. When it is my turn, I step forward, walking with confidence through the metal detector. I am briefly patted down before I am adjudged clean, whereupon I make a grab for my plastic tub and proceed to hop around as I get my shoes back on.

I head to a Starbucks to get a Frappuccino while I wait, and the cool drink feels good down my parched throat. My boarding pass informs me that I am looking for Gate D-7, which is down the long corridor to the right. I pull my laptop case properly about my shoulder, gripping my carry-on bag with my other hand, and proceed to walk down the corridor, all the while sipping my drink. I check in at the desk at the proper gate and the kind woman of African American descent informs me that first class will be boarding in just an hour or so, and to have a seat to wait.

I thank her and go to sit by the window, looking outside at all the planes coming and going from the various terminals. I pull out my phone and see several missed calls and worried texts from Brian, each one more desperate than the next. Only Stewie knows that I’m going back to Seattle, and he’s given me his word that he won’t tell Brian until I give him my word that the plane is ready for take-off.

I press the green phone button and place a call to Stewie, wanting to hear a friendly voice as I await my return home.

“Hey, babe,” he says as soon as he answers.

“Hi, Stewie. How are you?”

He yawns a bit. “I am so bored, to be honest with you, Vivienne,” he tells me. “I mean, on the one hand, it’s nice to actually see someone who is on good terms with at least a part of their family. But the fact that you have to go to the other side of the country is just baffling to me, really. I was hoping that we could go on another adventure…”

“Something bad always happens,” I say quietly. “I mean, the first time we go, Brian gets a call from that Jillian girl. The second time, he doesn’t care that I was almost raped, and he was hooking up with someone else. Last time, we get together, but then I find out that I’m a potential rebound, and from your mother of all people.”

“Lois just likes to toy with Brian,” Stewie tells me gently. “She would never sleep with him—the one time he made a serious pass at her, the Fat Man nearly killed him after they got into a bar fight. This was all in Martha’s Vineyard, and unfortunately, Lois and the Fat Man left all three of us with this man who lives on our street who has an obsession with my brother’s butt,” he says.

“Wait, wait, wait. You have a pedophile in your neighborhood?!” I demand.

“Yes, but don’t worry, he only preys upon Chris…and this one guy named Kyle…and this one kid that looked like he could be the love child of Mort Goldman and Harry Potter… To be honest, I’ve lost count of all the boys he’s interested in…”

“Well, regardless of that, I’m glad you’re safe,” I reply. “And remember our deal—I send you the confirmation text that the plane is about to take off, and that’s when you tell Brian that I’m gone. Got it?”

“Yes, I know,” he replies. “Two weeks you say?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so, Stewie.”

“Vivienne, are you telling me that I have to put up with just Brian for company for a bloody fortnight?!” he demands, a significant amount of hurt in his voice.

“At least try to make friends with Rallo,” I say persuasively. “Maybe he’ll let you play with Elsa a little bit…”

“I don’t want to take any chances with her,” he says quietly. “I don’t want Brian getting the wrong idea…”

“Wow, I really needed to hear that…”

“He _is_ a dog, Vivienne,” he replies.

I sigh. “I know, Stewie. I know he’s a dog…”

“And you’re in love with him,” Stewie finishes for me.

I shrug. “Even I don’t know the answer to that anymore…”

. . .

When I hear that the in-flight movie is going to be _The Devil Wears Prada_, I opt to buy the headphones. I eat my chicken dinner and watch the movie before I pull the curtains around the seats and push the seats around to form a proper bed. Using the provided blanket, I fall into a deep sleep…

The next thing I hear is the pilot informing the passengers that we are “making our decent into Seattle”. Sarah is going to pick me up while Paul is at home with the kids, because I really need some girl time. I get off the plane at my cue and make my way through the crowd to baggage claim, before easily retrieving my suitcase. I go to the escalator and go down it, seeing Sarah waiting in the crowd for me, dressed in a cherry-colored suit I bought her two years back.

She waves and promptly dashes forward to put her arms around me. “Oh, so good to see you, little sister!” she crows in my ear before pulling me back. She takes my suitcase and ignores my protests that I can manage it myself as we head in the direction of the underground parking garage. “So, how was the flight?”

“Fine,” I reply. “_The Devil Wears Prada_ was playing.”

“Oh, I like that one! Quite a feat to be in the fashion industry,” she says, shaking her head as we step into an elevator. She pressed the button marked ‘C-3’ and soon we are heading downward. When the doors pop open she leads me into the mess of cars, and, after going about for three or four minutes, we come to her car. She unlocks it automatically and slips my suitcase into the trunk before nodding at me to get in the car.

“New?” I ask, gesturing to the interior of the impressive vehicle.

She smiles. “Christmas present,” she tells me.

“Nice,” I reply.

We make casual small talk all the way until we get back to their house, a sizeable mansion located on Lake Washington. I am immediately swarmed by my twin nieces, Jackie and Daphne, as well as my older nephew, Felix, who would soon be joined by a brother, who was still unnamed. I handed over little gifts I’d found for each of them, and they all scampered off to bed afterwards. I sat up with Paul and Sarah for a while, sipping red wine and telling them about my new life in Quahog.

When eleven o’clock loomed, I excused myself to go to bed. I unpacked my top and short set and climbed into bed, shutting off the bedside table lamp. I tucked the blankets around me, and allowed sleep to take over.

Suddenly, I felt completely weightless, almost as if I was being lifted from the bed itself. I initially felt as if it was my body trying to trick me, so I ignored it. However, suddenly I felt as if I was on a shooting bullet, and I was hurled through the air, outside, and over the dark town below. I didn’t stop; rather, it just got faster and faster and faster and soon everything below me was a blur. I shook, not from cold but fear, as a familiar house came into view—and way sooner than any jet plane could have gotten me there.

I was flung into Stewie’s bedroom, where I saw Brian holding what appeared to be a 1990’s action figure controller, except this one had a GPS and screen to indicate where whatever they were manipulating was. I am tossed onto the ground and Brian turns fully to look at me, and gives me a look. I return the look, unafraid, but merely annoyed.

“What the hell is your deal?!” I demand.

“I should ask you the same thing.” He produces the necklace from his pocket. “Care to explain what the hell this means?”

I roll my eyes. “Clearly you’ve stolen one of Stewie’s inventions as a means to totally and completely disregard my rights to take a simple vacation,” I say irritably. “Brian, I fully intended to come back after two weeks in Seattle. I was there visiting my brother and sister-in-law, and their kids. Other than the Browns’, they are all the family I’ve got. My parents want nothing to do with me, and only care about Paul and Sarah. As soon as I turned eighteen, I got the surgery and moved in with them. In exchange for taking over as their nanny, and going to school, I didn’t have to pay rent. Not that they would have made me, they both love me so much…” I run my hands through my hair. “The point I’m trying to make here is, I needed some time to myself, and I can’t do that if you keep summoning me back here. Please, let me have some time…”

“But what about us?” he asks.

“I don’t know about that right now, Brian,” I admit.

“Vivienne…”

I hold up my hand. “Two weeks, that’s all I’m asking for,” I say gently.

It is then that I feel a shift and then I find I am opening my eyes, and I am suddenly in my own bed at Paul and Sarah’s house. It is eight o’clock in the morning, and I quickly make a grab for my phone. It should be eleven o’clock in Rhode Island, so I quickly place a call to Stewie, who answers right away.

“Good morning, Vivienne,” he says amicably. “Have you had the continental breakfast yet this morning?”

“Very funny,” I reply. “Was I at your house last night?”

“Oh, my god, are you saying it worked?”

“Worked? What worked?” I ask.

“My new invention,” he says by means of an explanation. “I created a device where I’m able to put a small amount of two or more people’s DNA into a machine, whereupon I am able to allow the two of them to have a dream about one another. I also get to pick the location and the circumstances, and, based on their DNA, the people within the dream are able to speak as they normally would. The people in the dream really believe that it is happening, so they don’t risk doing anything crazy—such as nailing their tongue to a wall or something equally disturbing.”

“Stewie…that’s amazing!” I cry.

“Thank you,” Stewie replies. “Brian hasn’t made his presence known yet. He was out late last night.”

“Out late?” I ask. “Is he all right?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says. “He probably got drunk late into the night because, as a dog, he believes you’ve gone forever. I explained as much to him when you allowed me to speak of it, that you’re only gone for two weeks.”

“Dogs,” I reply, shaking my head. “Well, I’m going to jump in the shower and actually attempt to be productive today. What are you all doing today?”

“Oh, I may venture out to the Quahog Independent District,” he replies. “We have several districts here, as I’m sure you know. This one is all about coffee shops and open mics and free speech and sidewalk chalk drawings.”

“Sounds reminiscent of the 1970’s,” I reply.

“Yes, and god knows we aren’t going back there again,” he jokes.

I nod. “Indeed,” I reply.

. . .

I hope out of the ensuite bathroom shower and proceed to blow dry my hair, all the while wrapped up in a towel. I slide into a pair of my jeans as soon as my hair is presentable, slipping into a blouse and stepping into my sneakers in one go. I put my hair into a long ponytail going down my back and return to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I am slightly more satisfied with my appearance than before, I slip from my bedroom and go downstairs, where I hear the hustle and bustle of breakfast getting ready.

“Hi,” I say, entering the large kitchen. “Hey, Ruth,” I say to their cook.

“Miss Vivienne, you’re back!” she cries, kissing my cheek briefly before urging me to go sit at the table with my family. “I make your favorite breakfast, mi amore—waffles, eggs, and sausage,” she says enthusiastically.

“We wish you were here all the time,” eleven-year-old Felix informs me.

Jackie and Daphne, both eight, roll their eyes. I reach to the side and gently tweak their braids before sitting beside Felix.

“Everyone have good dreams?” I ask.

“Yes!” they all three chirp as one.

“What are you both doing today?” I ask Paul and Sarah.

“I’ve got a meeting this afternoon,” Paul replies, and Sarah sighs a little, having always wanted the weekends to be family-oriented.

“But, I’ve planned a wonderful trip to the zoo today,” Sarah replies. Our local zoo, Woodland Park, opens at 9:30, so there will be plenty of time to ready ourselves. “We haven’t been since the summer, and I try to make it over there at least twice a year.”

“What’s your favorite animal at the zoo?” I ask Felix.

“I like the big cats,” he tells me.

“And Jackie and Daphne?” I want to know. “How about you?”

“I like the butterfly house,” Jackie tells me.

“The Family Farm,” Daphne replies.

Ruth comes by the table with heaping platters of waffles, eggs, and sausages, and places them in the center of the table. “I’m making your favorite tonight, Vivienne,” she says, with nods from Paul and Sarah. “Chicken parmesan with heaping pounds of spaghetti, and my special sauce,” she says proudly. “And I’m making that white cake with buttercream frosting you love so much for dessert.”

I am truly overwhelmed. “Thank you, Ruth,” I reply as Paul puts some of everything on everyone’s plates.

The doorbell rings then and I automatically get up to answer it.

“No, my darling,” Ruth says, gently pushes me back down into my chair. “You stay here and eat your breakfast. I’ll answer the door, and then I’ll make you that sandwich you asked for, Paul—pastrami on rye, mustard, lettuce, tomato,” she says, beginning to sing softly to herself as she ventures down the hall towards the front door.

Sarah gives me and her kids smiles. “We get to go to the Rain Forest Food Pavilion for lunch,” she says proudly.

Ruth comes back into the room, her eyebrows kitted together. “Vivienne, there’s a young man here to see you,” she says.

“Colin?” Paul asks, mentioning the British exchange student I dated for over a year when I’d begun living with them. “Still works with me at the hospital—he’s our top heart surgeon now to my top position as brain surgeon,” he says proudly. “Told him you were coming. Said he’d stop by at some point this weekend.”

“Oh,” I said, lowering my eyes.

Paul briefly touched my hand. “You owe it to him to at least be polite…”

“No, said his name was Brian,” Ruth replies.

“Oh…him.” I get to my feet, suddenly realizing why Stewie hadn’t seen Brian yet this morning, the pieces all coming together. “I’ll just be a minute…” I excuse myself from the table and venture out into the foyer when Brian is standing, a small roller suitcase placed just next to him. “What are you doing here?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“I came to see you.”

I gently take him by the arm and pull him into the parlor, where I promptly shut the door behind the both of us; I don’t want the kids to hear us yelling. “How the hell did you know where Paul and Sarah live?!” I demand.

“Your brother is one of the top five brain surgeons in the city,” Brian says.

I cross my arms. “Check again. State,” I inform him.

“And Sarah, your sister-in-law, is a published literature professor for the university, so her information is out there as well. We live in an informational-driven age, Vivienne. Google is very helpful in these situations.”

“Situations of stalking, you mean?” I retort.

Brian sighs. “I’m sorry. Stewie mentioned to me why you returned the necklace. I apologize for not being more upfront with you, about marrying Lois, I mean…”

“And everything else?” I ask.

“Everything else…? Oh. About Dylan,” he says, nodding. “And Jillian, and Rita…”

“Rita?” I demand. “Who the hell is Rita?!”

He sighs. “I got into a fender bender with her daughter, Nicole, and I asked her out,” Brian says levelly as we sit down across from one another on separate couches. “I go to pick her up for our dinner date and she ends up going out with some other guy. Her mom was there and she just seemed nice and smart so I asked her out and she said yes. We dated for a few weeks and I ended up popping the question…”

My hands begin knotting in my lap. “Did you?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes. She and I one night… Well, I’m sure you know where I’m going with this. So anyway, she breaks her hip, and I realized just how old she really was—she claimed to be fifty,” he goes on. “Anyhow, I went to the supermarket to get something for her…erm, discomfort, and I ended up sleeping with this young girl at a bar. She then broke up with me and although I was initially upset, I didn’t blame her.”

“And Dylan?” I ask.

“He’s still on that show, although I never watch it anymore—too painful,” he replies. “Why his mother has custody I’ll never know…” He shrugs.

I sigh. “Well, then I should probably be honest with you.” I shake my head. “After I moved out of my parents’ house, I moved in here when I was eighteen-years-old, and I lived here for three years before I moved to Quahog. While I lived here, I got the surgery, went to school, and helped take care of my two nieces and nephew. While in school—Sarah managed to get me a spot at the University of Washington—I met this guy named Colin who was pre-med, and he was shadowing Paul. He was really nice and cute and he asked me out before we even figured out the connection. It was great having some guy interested in me; he was a British exchange student, and most of my acquaintances from high school went out of state for college, so he didn’t know…”

“What happened when he did find out?” Brian asked.

“I told Colin after we’d been dating for three months,” I told him. “He didn’t mind. In fact, he understood because he was able to see it from a medical point of view. He didn’t see my choice as selfish, rather, he saw it as me taking my life into my own hands. He knew that if I didn’t get the surgery that I was going to die, and that’s when he told me that he loved me and that he wanted me to be safe.”

“And then what happened?”

“And then it was Christmas and New Year’s and I had a decent man on my arm,” I replied easily. “Even my parents were making an effort to be cordial to me during all those mandatory family events I had to go to. By summer, Colin and I went to our family cabin with Paul and Sarah and the kids. By fall, he was accepted into the medical program at the University of Washington, and everything was coming up roses.”

“So, what happened between you two?”

“Well, Christmas and New Year’s happened and again he came with me to the parties,” I went on. “I was nineteen by this point and Colin was twenty-seven, and the age difference didn’t affect us at all. But I found that Colin was growing distant from me, and I assumed that it was due to the fact that A: I was nineteen and therefore we were unable to fully sample the nightlife that Seattle—or any major city, for that matter—offered. And for the second reason, because I wouldn’t sleep with him… We’d slept in the same bed a number of times, but I was afraid to get that close to anyone…”

“And then what?”

“Well, that summer I confronted him on it. He was so busy with school and so was I that the conversation just never happened. And then we had midterms and finals and I didn’t want to jeopardize our grades so I neglected to initiate the conversation very much and when I did, I didn’t want us to fight, so I dropped it…” I sighed. “I’m not proud of what I did—I think that communication comes second to trust and loyalty, so I think I was a fucking hypocrite not to say anything before… Well, summer came and we went to the cabin again, and as soon as we were unpacked, Colin and I went for a walk on the beach.”

“What was going through your mind?”

“I guess breaking up with him,” I admitted. “We weren’t communicating, and I just didn’t want to live that way anymore. I had just finished my second year of college, and I decided to take some time off. I left the country for a while—two years, actually—and went to France and Spain and Italy. In case I haven’t mentioned this before, I speak fluent French, Spanish, and Italian.”

“Yeah, I think that’s something worth mentioning…”

I shrugged. “Sorry. When you’re in high school with no friends and your school doesn’t offer Italian, you improvise. I took French for two years and Spanish for two years, and I wanted a challenge, so I took Italian.”

“So you’re on the beach with Colin…?”

“Yes. The beach. So we’re walking along when suddenly he pulls away from me and kneels down in the sand in front of me…”

“Oh. I see.”

“Yep.”

“So Colin asked you to marry him, you said yes, and the years spent travelling were some long honeymoon?”

I sighed and shook my head. “No. I did say yes to marrying him, though. We were engaged for three months, with the understanding that we wouldn’t engage in physical activity until our wedding night. It was for respect reasons, and I just wasn’t ready. We planned a long engagement, and planned to be married in December of 2014, one month after I turned twenty-one. One afternoon, I went to the hospital where Colin was serving his residency in the heart surgery division, with the intention of dropping off his lunch. Paul is on the board of directors and as one of the main brain surgeons, he was well known and so was I, so I bypassed security entirely. I went into Colin’s office and that’s when I found him screwing Paul’s secretary, Maia. He was unapologetic, and explained that men had needs that I couldn’t fulfill, when he was the one who suggested that we wait until our wedding night in the first place. I just threw the lunch at him and ran out of there, out a back entrance, and cried in my car the whole way back here. Sarah had taken the kids to the cabin because this was during a school vacation, and Paul was on a work-related trip to Colorado. I was alone in the house because Ruth was with her children in Yakima at the time, so I was utterly and completely alone…”

“Wait, it was his idea to wait to get married and he cheated on you?!” Brian demanded in shock, crossing the room to sit beside me.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you keep in touch?”

“Not me. Paul does. He’s arranged for Colin to come over this weekend.”

“Paul knows how Colin treated you and yet he still is involved with him?”

I sighed. “No. They don’t know.”

“They still think you’re engaged?”

“No.” I sighed. “Paul heard from Colin that he found me cheating with some guy I’d just met, this drifter that was around town for a while named Donnie. Why Paul believed Colin over me I’ll never know, but we agreed never to discuss it again.”

“So Paul and Sarah think you cheated on Colin?”

“Sarah heard my side of the story later and believed me, but at my insistence, she never mentioned it to Paul,” I reply.

“So that’s why you reacted so strongly when you saw me in bed with Bessie?” Brian says, putting the last piece of the puzzle together.

I nodded. “Yes.”

He sighs. “And I fucked everything up. God, I’m such an idiot…”

“Hey, you didn’t know…”

“No, but I should have,” he replies, taking my hand. “Instead I used immature humor to remove myself from the situation in an attempt to absolve myself from any blame. For that, Vivienne, and for hurting you, I apologize.”

“Thank you, Brian.”

He stares at me for a moment before leaning in and kissing my cheek. “We could prove to Colin that you’ve moved on…”

“Brian, I can’t ask you to…”

“I _want_ to, that is, if you’ll have me,” he replies.

I smile, touching his cheek. “Of course,” I say, leaning down to kiss him.

Brian immediately clasps the Tiffany necklace around my neck again. “Well, let the games begin,” he says.

. . .

It was a lovely two weeks, with the trip to the zoo, dinners out, nightlife, and, the cherry on top was proving to Colin that I’d moved on. Colin hadn’t remained in a relationship with Maia, only dating her for a few months after our engagement ended. He seemed bitter about my relationship with Brian, and attempted to get me alone on several occasions to, as he put it, rekindle our romance. I denied him every time.

Brian was welcomed into my family and, at his urging, I finally told Paul the truth. Paul believed me immediately, and told me that he would recommend to the board that Colin be terminated immediately for impropriety. Colin, however, was reassigned to a hospital in Spokane, much to Paul’s disappointment. I was at least relieved to know that I wouldn’t be seeing him anytime soon.

Brian and I returned to the airport together and flew in together to Quahog as well. Donna was surprised to see him with me, but allowed us to ride in the backseat together, not asking any pressing questions quite yet about my trip. Totally jet-lagged, she allowed me and Brian to sleep in the garage apartment together. I immediately jumped in the shower as soon as we arrived, and Brian went in right afterwards.

I hadn’t told Brian about my surprise, and realized that now was as good a time as any in order to put my plan in motion. I dug into my suitcase and found the Victoria’s Secret bag which was full of purchases I’d got on a clandestine trip to the mall with Sarah. I slipped into the brand-new lingerie and also got out the LED flameless candles, which I put in various places throughout my bedroom. Positioning myself in what I thought was a seductive position on my bed, I grabbed the welcome home bouquet of roses that Brian had had delivered to the apartment and scattered them around me, holding a condom between my breasts and waiting.

I heard the shower turn off and I heard the telltale sound of Brian shaking himself off and blow-drying his fur, because nobody wants to smell a wet dog for a long period. He then walked the short distance from the mirror to the door, and I saw the doorknob turn and watched the door open and the bathroom light turn off in one swift motion. I waited for his reaction to my surprise, and his eyes widened at the sight of me, sitting there, in the center of the bed.

“Vivienne…”

“Hello, Brian.”

“I… Wow. You look great. Beautiful. Gorgeous…”

I smile. “Thank you for noticing, Brian.” I raise myself up onto my knees and crawl toward him, taking the condom from between my breasts and bring it up into my mouth. “Well, Brian? What are you waiting for?”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I reply.

He steps forward, taking the condom from my mouth and removing his towel, which he hangs up on the peg on the bathroom door. He then gets the condom on and reaches out for me, while I slowly remove my lingerie. I lie back on the bed, completely naked, while he climbs on as well, staring down at me. “You’re so beautiful, Vivienne,” he whispers, reaching out to touch my face. “I’m proud to call you mine…”

“No writers’ talk here,” I say with a small smile as I slowly open my legs. “Come on, Brian, please. I’m ready. I want you so much…”

Brian shudders with desire at that and gently positions himself on top of me. “This may hurt a little, Vivienne, and for that, I apologize.”

“It’s okay,” I reassure him. “Don’t worry…”

He enters me then and I quickly shove a bit of my hand into my mouth to keep from screaming in pain. He looks worried, but I quickly seize him then and shove him deeper and deeper, letting him know that I am all right. Nodding at that, he goes slowly at first, but then when the pain is gone and I look better, he goes faster and faster and faster and, quite soon, we are both satisfied.

. . .

I wake up the following morning, quite pleased to see Brian still next to me. I kiss his cheek and proceed to rub his ear, and he wags his tail and opens his eyes. “How would you like to join me for another shower?” I ask.

After half an hour of a long, wonderful, and pleasurable shower, we each blow-dry off and I agree to go over to the Griffin house with Brian to see Stewie. We go across the street and I spot Stewie in his bedroom, looking quite gleeful at the sight of us holding hands. We walk right in, and Peter, Lois, Chris, and Meg run up and are pleased to see Brian. Peter, Chris, and Meg greet me with enthusiasm, while Lois remains standoffish as Stewie enters the room with joy.

“Vivienne!” he cries, running to me and jumping into my arms.

“Hello, Stewie,” I reply.

“Stewie, Mommy put you down for a nap,” Lois replies. “You can’t spend time with Brian’s friend right now.”

“Lois, that’s enough!” Brian says heatedly. “This attitude of yours towards Vivienne is totally unfounded! When you had me, you didn’t want me, and now that I’m finally happy in my relationship with someone else, you turn into a complete bitch.”

“Brian’s right, Lois,” Peter says. “You need to stop. Vivienne is really nice, and she buys me rare and expensive presents. Right, Vivienne?”

I roll my eyes playfully and produce something that I found for Peter at an antique store near Paul and Sarah’s house. “This is called a _Fabergé egg_, Peter,” I say, handing over the pale blue egg to him, decorated with small diamonds and gold. “These were very popular when Russia was still a monarchy.”

Peter lets out a little shout and goes to the wall where portraits of each of his children are, along with a new shelf. “You will join your brothers now, Fabergé egg,” he says devoutly, and sets it upon the self near all the other little gifts I’ve bought him.

“Chris, Meg, I found you little gifts, too,” I say, handing Chris a T-shirt that says Made in Seattle on it and Meg a charm bracelet with the charms lip gloss, a ballet slipper, and a pair of glasses on it, which she surprisingly loves. “Stewie, I got you a fairy tale book with stories that take place in Asia,” I go on, and I notice Lois raise an eyebrow. “And Lois, Peter and Brian have mentioned to me your love of pearls, so I found this, thought of you, and decided that it was perfect.” I handed over a pearl necklace that I’d seen in a shop window and liked for her.

Lois’s eyes widened as she tried to clasp it around her neck.

“Here, let me,” I said, crossing towards her and clasping it. “There we go,” I said, gently patting her shoulder as I stepped away. “You look beautiful.”

She sighed. “You’re right. I have been jealous of your relationship with Brian. I guess it’s because you two are just starting out and are in the honeymoon phase. Peter and I haven’t been that love-struck about each other in over twenty years.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply. “I didn’t know…”

Lois smiled. “It’s okay. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“Lois, now that you like Vivienne, can she please read me some Asian fairy tales in my room?” Stewie asks.

“Oh, you want Vivienne to read to you?” Lois says. “All right.”

“I’ll come, too,” Brian says, taking the book from Stewie and flipping through it as we head upstairs. “Some really good stories in here…”

“We’ll read it later,” Stewie says impatiently. “I have another adventure in mind.”

“Really?” I ask. “Where?”

We head into Stewie’s bedroom as he evades the question, shutting the door behind us as we go. He hops down from my arms and gets the time machine out, pressing various buttons until we’re safely inside. Stewie presses the destination, Philadelphia, and the year 1775 A.D.

“Why does that year sound so familiar?” Brian asks.

“Oh, no…” I say as the white light surrounds us and we are plummeted into the past. When I am aware of myself once again, I look down to see Revolutionary-style women’s dress. I feel something upon my head and, feeling it, come to terms with the fact that I have an elaborate hat upon my head. High heels of the period are on my feet, and I have a lovely fur wrap upon my shoulders.

“Why are we here?” Brian wants to know, adjusting his hat that makes him look like a caricature of a Thanksgiving definition for grade schoolers. “Stewie, you’ve gotta tell us what’s going on.”

“In a moment, Brian,” Stewie replies, and proceeds to dash up a hill where a rather large pine tree is stationed. He stands motionless beside it and merely watches the goings-on behind it, so much so that Brian and I climb the hill as well to see what is going on.

“Looks like something just happened,” Brian observes, seeing various people conversing on the street.

“I wonder what,” Stewie replies.

“Let’s go find out,” I reply, and the three of us head down the hill and towards what appears to be a town square. I see a circle of women speaking to one another, so I head towards them, hoping that they’ll be able to tell me something. “Good morning,” I say politely to them, hoping that I sound somewhat appropriate.

They turn to look at me, each smiling in turn.

“You must be new to Philadelphia,” the first one says, taking ahold of her skirts. “Sally Bache, only daughter to Benjamin Franklin. How do you do?” she asks me, curtsying before me with a kind smile.

“Elizabeth,” I reply. “Charmed.”

“These are my good friends Miss Grace and Miss Honor, commonly known as the Hartford twins,” Sally informs me. “We’ve been friends since childhood.”

“How lovely,” I reply, noticing the gold band upon her finger, as well as her expanding waistline. “You’re married?” I ask.

“To Richard Bache,” she tells me. “We’ve two sons—Benjamin and William. Both kind and upstanding boys.”

“That’s my husband, over there,” I say, nodding to where Brian is speaking to none other than Benjamin Franklin himself, Stewie at his side. “And that’s our boy, Stuart, with him. I assure you, don’t let his name fool you—it is an old family name, and our family consists of devout Patriots.”

Brian nods to where I’m standing and Benjamin Franklin turns about, seeing me with his own daughter. His eyes light up like a kind fatherly figure would and he beckons to Brian and Stewie and the three of them cross to us. Grace and Honor quickly greet Benjamin Franklin before scuttling away, leaving the five of us together.

“I see you’ve met Mr. Thomas O’Brian’s lovely wife,” says Benjamin Franklin, stepping forward and taking my hand. “Mrs. O’Brian, a pleasure,” he says, kissing my hand, and I sense my eyes popping. “Your husband has already introduced your lovely boy Stuart; he is very well-mannered, if I do say so myself.”

“Elizabeth, Mr. Franklin, please,” I reply, managing to get my hand away from his and to hold onto Brian’s hand. “I’ve met your daughter, Sally. I must admit, that is not a name one hears very often.”

“She was born Sarah,” Benjamin Franklin explains. “My wife…my dear wife and I called her Sally after an old friend of ours.”

“I heard talk about your wife, Mr. Franklin,” I say quietly. “I do apologize.”

He gives me a kind smile, his eyes dancing good-naturedly from behind his spectacles. “It is Ben, Elizabeth, Ben to all those who are loyal Patriots.”

“Father, as the O’Brian’s are new to town, why don’t I take Elizabeth and little Stuart home with me? Stuart can Benjy and Willie and Elizabeth and I can get better acquainted while you discuss your victory with Brian,” says Sally amicably.

“A wise idea, Sally dear,” Franklin replies, kissing his daughter’s forehead before Sally and I walk off together.

“Your father is quite…friendly,” I remark as we walk down the street, all the while I keep a good hold upon Stewie’s hand.

“Make no mistake,” Sally replies, “though my father had a great love for my mother, known as Deborah Reed, he would still seek out his French women…”

“French women?” I reply, trying my best to keep a straight face as we walk along.

Sally nods. “Yes. I once found a letter between him and one of his French paramours—a Madame Brillion,” she spits. “They claimed that there would be eternal peace, love, and friendship between them…”

I quickly turn and exchange a look with Stewie, whose eyebrows raise up. “Wow, that’s straight up R-rated material right there,” I say to him, speaking out of the side of my mouth as a carriage goes by, so Sally cannot hear me.

“Seems to me that Franklin is going to make a play for you,” he replies.

. . .

We arrive at a lovely home just outside of the busy streets own town. We walk through the black iron gate and up the walk, when the door bursts open and two little boys, who looked to be about six and two, dashed forward. Sally bent down and gathered them into her arms, while they looked around her pregnant form to me and to Stewie. Their childlike eyes grew wide at what they saw.

“Mother,” said the older one, Benjy, “who are our guests?”

“Mama, ‘nother little boy!” cried Willie, a little less sensibly.

Sally laughed at their questions as a third gentleman stepped forth from inside. “Richard,” said Sally, much love in her voice. “This is Elizabeth O’Brian and her son, Stuart. Mrs. O’Brian’s husband is a friend of father’s.”

“Ah, yes, Thomas O’Brian, the crier just announced it,” said Richard with a smile, coming down the stairs to kiss Sally before scooping up their boys. “Mrs. O’Brian, Stuart, what an honor it is to have you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bache,” I reply with a smile.

“Richard, please,” he says.

“Then you must call me Elizabeth. We are old friends now, you see.”

Richard and Sally laugh at that and lead us inside, where a woman of African American descent takes mine, Sally’s, and Stewie’s cloak-like garments and hanging them up on pegs down the hallway. She curtsies to us all before returning to the kitchen, whereupon Stewie and I give each other a horrified look. This does not go unnoticed by Sally or Richard, who looked shocked at our expressions.

“Our servant, Maggie Fitzgerald,” Richard says by means of introduction.

“Your…purchased servant?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes, Maggie is one of our slaves.”

“You’ve got more than one?”

“Of course,” Sally replies easily, leading us into the parlor where a tea tray is waiting on the coffee table. “Several work in the kitchens, several do housework… I’ve got someone to dress me and we’ve got attendants for the nursery… And we’ve even got a wonderful woman who constantly cares for Benjy and Willie… Daisy!” she cries, and another African American woman, who looks to be in her fifties or sixties, rather rounded and with the kindest face you’d ever did see, enters.

“Yes’m?” she asks, pulling her shawl more closely about her round shoulders and adjusting her white cap.

“Please take the boys upstairs,” Sally says.

“Yes’m,” Daisy says, smiling at the boys and holding her hands out to Benjy and Willie before leading them out of there.

“You actually bought these people?!” I cry. It is one thing to read about slavery in history books; it is another thing to witness it first-hand.

Sally shrugs and pours her tea. “I don’t see a problem.”

“Neither do I,” Richard replies, taking his offered tea and sipping it. “It isn’t against the law, Elizabeth.”

“It is where I come from,” I reply hotly. “I guarantee you both that in five years, it will be out of practice up here.”

“Meaning?” Sally asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The South won’t see it gone for almost one hundred years,” I reply, while Stewie slaps my hand briefly.

Sally and Richard look at each other for a moment.

“And why, pray tell, will it take so long for the South to abolish it?” Richard asks.

“The cotton plantations,” I reply. “You need a lot of good workers for those things.”

Richard sets aside his tea and looks at me, scrutiny in his dark eyes. “So you don’t believe that slavery should exist?” he asks slowly, coldly, deadly.

Stewie reaches out and grips my hand, but I fail to take note of its meaning.

“Yes,” I reply resolutely. “Not one race is above or below another. If we keep people against their will, to work for us with no pay and no hope of ever doing anything they want to do ever again, then it is a crime.”

“A crime?!” Sally squeaks.

“Yes, and a damn fine good it’ll do you,” I say, wanting very much to throttle the both of them for their potential heinous acts of cruelty. “You should be fined, or worse,” I say, shaking my head.

“What could be worse?” Richard asks.

I raise my eyes to his. “Do you whip your slaves, Richard?”

He nods. “I do.”

I give him a tight smile. “Then there is your answer.”

His eyes darken at that in a rage. He gets to his feet and makes a grab for my shoulder, poor Stewie failing to stop him. He hauls me out of the parlor and down the hall, through to the kitchen and out the back door, where I see a good handful of slaves tending to their rather large garden. He lets me go and I stumble a bit before regaining my footing as Stewie comes out to join us, Sally at his heels.

“Blaine, come here now,” Richard says through his teeth.

A young African American man looks up at Richard before setting down his hoe before approaching Richard. He takes off his hat before nodding to him. “Master?” he asks, his accent thick and Southern.

Richard fixes him with a sharp look before turning to look at Sally and nodding at her before turning back to the man called Blaine. He then knocks Blaine unforgivably to the ground, while Sally hands over a whip. Richard rips away Blain’s thin shirt and raises the whip, while the workers briefly hesitate in their work. Richard turns and looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes wild and frightening. “I cannot morally hit a woman, Elizabeth, but I will show you how discipline is handled where I come from,” he growls, raising his whip and sending it down with a crack.

Blaine cries out, tears quickly making watery trails down his cheeks.

“Stop,” I say, my lip trembling.

“This is my right!” Richard hisses through his teeth.

He then reaches down and makes a grab for Blain, hauling him to his feet and dragging him to the center of the garden, where a thick, lone pole is stationed, several feet in the earth. There is a rope nearby, which he uses to tie Blaine’s wrists together, once he’s gotten him into a kneeling position and his arms wrapped around the pole. Blaine sobs as this is done, and the other workers shake their heads.

“Back to work!” Richard shouts at them, before raising the whip upwards again. He then proceeds to whip Blain several more times.

“Stop it!” I shout as the whips becomes harder and faster. “Can’t you see you’re hurting him?!” I demand, running to Richard’s side and making a grab for him arm. “Stop it right now, Richard!”

Richard shoves me to the side, so that I fall to the ground and I feel something hard touch my cheek. “Worthless bitch!” he shouts at me, giving me a swift kick before I hear the lashing noises again.

I peel my face up from the ground, and find that a small rock has cut my cheek; my blood drips upon the deep brown earth. I turn round to see Richard continuing to hit Blaine, and Blaine sobbing and begging for mercy. I suddenly feel a strength within me and raise to my feet, making a grab for the rock. As I raise it, Sally lets out a shout, and Richard sees what I am doing. He grabs the rock from me and drags me to the fence, slamming me up into it and holding the rock to my throat.

“You dare interfere with the discipline of one of my men?” he whispers through his teeth, his eyes filled with an evil fire. “Who do you think you are?”

“A woman who wants justice for pricks like you,” I say, spitting into his eyes and kicking him in between his legs before getting away from him. I dash to Blaine’s side, but don’t make a move to untie him. I stand my ground before him, giving Richard a look as he steps forward and proceeds to raise his whip again. His eyes inform me that he won’t hesitate to whip while I’m standing there, and I feel the challenge on my lips. My eyes are threatening to push him over the edge; I _want_ him to be pushed over that edge.

He raises the whip and strikes me then, and I feel the blood seeping through my clothes, but I make no effort to move. I bite my lip to stop my tears; I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me weakened by his blows. He does it again, and again, and again, and suddenly I see Benjamin Franklin and Brian stepping through the door and into the yard.

I watch as Franklin lets out a shout and quickly overpowers Richard, dragging him into the house, while Sally shouts after him. I step away from Blaine before quickly making a move to untie him. My cuts are on fire, and I am nearly blinding by the blood and tears which fall down my face all at once. “What’s your full name?” I ask Blaine, nearly choking on my own blood.

“Jack Blaine,” he wheezes back.

“Stewie?” I ask, nodding at him. “Does your device say anything about him?”

Stewie quickly Googles the name and shakes his head. “No.”

“Let’s take him back,” I urge.

Stewie sighs. “Oh, very well. He does certainly need medical attention,” he says, reaching into his bag and retrieving the return pad. He throws it upon the ground, and I allow Jack Blaine to lean upon my shoulder for the duration. We then end up in Stewie’s room, where Brian uses his phone to call an ambulance.

. . .

The next thing I remember is inhaling what appears to be a sterile environment, and, upon opening my eyes, I find pale blue walls and everything else a white or beige color. I turn to see Brian, sitting next to me, a bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath in a massive crystal vase on my bedside table. There is a card in them that reads: To Vivienne—Love, Brian, and Brian takes my hand.

“Joe is here to take your statement,” Brian says softly.

I blink. “Bonnie’s husband?”

Brian nods. “Yes. I gave them a cover story about how you were assaulted in a dark alley when we went out. You didn’t see the person, and since you weren’t raped, there weren’t any fluids to be found. Since you didn’t see them and I told them you were knocked out instantly, there’s no way to I.D. the guy. Since I’m color-blind and impossibly short, and I bark at pretty much any stranger, I’m no reliable witness either. As for Stewie, he’s a baby and only a handful of people can understand him as it is.”

“And Jack Blaine?” I ask.

“The cover story is that he and I saved your life,” Brian replies. “He stepped in as soon as you were knocked out to prevent any sexual assault, and he got burned for it. Don’t worry—he’s going to be fine. He’s being treated for malnutrition now, and we’ve made it sound like he was homeless. Thank goodness he doesn’t have any common diseases…”

“Like cholera, diarrhea, typhoid, tuberculosis, influenza, or hepatitis,” I reply. “And don’t worry about me falling for Jack or anything like that…”

Brian raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t think you would.”

I smile up at him. “I won’t. I think we should do something to help him start over and to adapt in this world—get him a fake identity and a decent job. Maybe Joe can put him into witness protection or something…”

“Maybe,” Brian says. “Listen… What if I told you that this last trip made me realize how much you mean to me and that I don’t want to lose you…?”

“Please don’t propose to me, Brian,” I say, shaking my head. “I need to get my degree and to start teaching, and to get my own place before I can consider marriage and children and other things like that…”

“Children?” Brian asks, withdrawing his hand. “Vivienne, I don’t know if I even want to have more kids, I…”

I sigh, lowering my eyes. “I think we have a problem, then,” I reply.


	5. What Do You Do with a Drunken Clam?

I was released from the hospital three days later and was permitted to do my college work by mail for the next week. Cleveland and Donna were sympathetic and understanding to me and I would watch Rallo in the garage apartment for the next week. Finally, I was able to start another quarter at Rhode Island College actually on campus. I gathered my books and my bag, kissed Brian goodbye, and left.

Brian had stayed the night every night since I returned from the hospital. Mainly, he held me during my nightmares, but sometimes I would be so distraught that it was very easy to seduce him afterwards. Sex helped me forget, and, believe me, the sex was amazing. Even though I had nothing to compare it to, I absolutely did not know how it could ever get any better than this.

With Brian over every night, it was becoming more and more difficult to concentrate on the various essays I was obligated to write during class. He would constantly come up behind me whenever I was working and brush my hair away from my neck, and covered it with a series of a thousand kisses. I would giggle and brush him off, until finally I would banish him across the street until I’d finished my classwork.

I wanted to get out of school and start my student teaching as quickly as possible, and I only had a few more months left. It was early March now, and I had to get through classes until June, and, once June happened, I had the rest of that month, along with July and August off. Come September, I would begin my student teaching at Martin Mull Elementary, and I was determined to get a proper placement.

Ever since my release from the hospital, Brian had pretty much never left my side, and Stewie seemed to think that it stemmed from the fact that his mother, Biscuit, abandoned him, and, therefore, I was the first person to come along to love him in a seemingly unconditional manner. Of course, this probably was due to the fact that Stewie wanted to work for the FBI. He told me as much when he came off of a seventy-two-hour binge watching session of _Law & Order: Special Victims Unit_. He also told me that he had a thing for the actor on the show, B.D. Wong.

I found the whole thing amusing and would allow Stewie to entertain me with his innermost thoughts about all his family members whenever I had some downtime. Stewie was just using this as strategy—I knew he wanted to go on another adventure, but midterms were the following week and I couldn’t allow myself to be distracted in any way by spontaneous and potentially dangerous travel. I promised Stewie that, once I’d completed my midterms and got my grades in the mail—and classes went on hiatus for a week for a cool down period—I told Stewie and Brian we’d use the time machine together again.

I arrived at school on a Friday in the second week of March and did my final midterm in my advanced childhood education class. I finished by twelve-thirty, feeling well-prepared for the end of it all—as the deadline was at one o’clock. I handed in my exam to my professor, Darrien, and thanked him for his time. He replied that he would see me in two weeks when classes began again, and I thanked him again. I left soon thereafter, clearing out my campus locker and heading down to the parking lot. I got into my car, putting the key into the ignition and hooking up my Bluetooth speaker to my cell phone and placed a FaceTime call to Stewie.

“Vivienne!” he cried. “Does you being in your car mean what I think it does?”

I laughed a little as I proceeded to pull out of the parking space. “It does, it does,” I replied, pulling down the lane and out of the lot. “I’ve finished with my midterm and I’m on my way back to the Browns’ house now.”

“Do you have the kids tonight?” Stewie asked.

I shake my head. “No. The Browns’ are out of town. Cleveland was invited to speak at this deli convention in Stoolbend and Donna decided to take the kids with them. I’ve the whole run of the house while they’re away.”

“Oh, thank god. Lois took Meg and Chris and the Fat Man onto her father’s yacht for the weekend. Brian made up some phony writing thing and spoke about how you and I were his muses when it came to that sort of thing. You do realize that once you marry Brian you’ll have access to my grandparents, right?”

I almost swerve in front of moving traffic. “Stewie, nobody’s mentioned marriage. And Brian is really sexually frustrated right now…”

“Really? Why should he be? He’s been staying at your apartment for the last several weeks, ever since we got back from Pennsylvania. Methinks he’s on his way to asking you to being his boo.”

I snort at that as I pull onto the main highway. “Um, Stewie, I don’t think that was very P.C. of you to use that particular noun,” I reply.

Stewie rolls his eyes and attempts to look around my car. “Where are you? The GPS I’ve got rigged to your car doesn’t seem to be working…”

“That isn’t creepy on so many levels,” I say, continuing down the highway. “I’m off the six and now I’m on the ten. Should be out of the city soon.”

“Good. We’ve got another adventure lined up,” Stewie says proudly.

I giggle at that as I continue on the ten. “Why am I not surprised?” I ask.

. . .

I arrive back on Spooner Street and pull into the car garage designated for me and hop out of my car. I immediately hear the sound of toenails upon wood as Brian scampers down the garage apartment stairs and runs towards me. He flashes me that grin of his, tail wagging, and stands on his toes to kiss me.

“Talk to Stewie?”

“Yes. He says he has something planned for us,” I reply.

Brain flashes me a smile and takes my hand as we walk across the street. The leaves upon the trees are just beginning to form, and the barely-covered tree branches still look like gnarled fingers from a children’s fairytale story. Brain hesitates a bit before we enter the house, and peeks up at me.

“No.”

“What? I didn’t even say it…”

I roll my eyes. “Brian, I don’t care if they aren’t home! There is no way that I would ever sleep in Peter and Lois’s bed! I was on thin ice with Lois for so long, and there is no way she would forgive me for ever doing something like that…”

“Well, maybe not in their bed,” Brian says, backtracking now. “Maybe, I don’t know, Chris’s bed…”

“Ew!” I cry, throwing his hand down. “The kid spends hours in there masturbating when he should be getting his grades up! No. No way.”

“And Stewie’s bed is too small. Plus, he’d never allow it. There’d be all this questioning about why we would need his bedroom for twenty minutes…” At my look, Brian quickly attempts to backtrack. “…give or take…”

“Uh-huh,” I say, knitting my eyebrows together as I try to figure out the architectural style of the Griffin’s house. “Well, there’s always Meg’s room…”

Brain’s eyes widen in what appears to be horror.

“What? So you made out with her once. I don’t care.”

“No!” Brian cries. “We can’t! I peed in her bed!”

“Geez, you would think that Cesar Milan died with that reaction,” I say, crossing my arms in a moment of irritation.

“Never joke about that!” Brian tells me. “And don’t believe what you read in the papers nowadays. _The Quahog Informant _and _The Daily Growl_ got it wrong! Those bunnies had it coming!”

I raise my eyebrows. “Tiny and furry things… They don’t mix well with you, do they?” I ask him, and it is then that I see a squirrel crawling up the side of a tree.

Brian immediately lifts his nose in the air and turns to where I’m looking. He growls almost at once, getting on all fours. “Hey! Hey! Don’t… Don’t you come over here! This is _my_ house, and Peter’s going to be back real soon! Get… Get the hell outta here right now, you stupid furry shit!”

Then the squirrel reaches into the knothole in the center of the tree trunk and withdraws what looks to be a squirrel-sized joint, which he sticks between his teeth. “Shut up you stupid dog!” he growls back before scurrying up the rest of the tree.

“Little bastard must have stolen from my weed supply!” Brian cries, and dashes into the house and up the stairs.

Sighing, I go after him, shutting the door behind us and following him. I get to the landing and see Stewie coming out of his bedroom, while Brian searches for something that appears to be underneath the floorboards. I give Stewie a perplexed look, but he holds up his hand, a signal for me to wait.

“Oh, come on, Brian. Using your mushrooms to pass the time when we had a hurricane wasn’t enough for you?” he asks.

“Mushrooms?!” I demand.

“Little squirrel bastard stole some of my weed, man,” Brian says, digging through the hidden space in the floor.

“Well, maybe I know a little something that can take your mind off of your marijuana stash, Brian,” Stewie says diplomatically, taking Brian by the hand. “Vivienne, close that up, will you?” he calls over his shoulder.

I quickly move to close up Brian’s hiding place and follow them to Stewie’s bedroom. I watch as Stewie releases Brian’s hand and summons the time machine from behind the wall and keys in the passcodes. We all three step inside, and Stewie puts in Australia for the location and 1945 for the year. Brian and I look at each other in a moment of momentary confusion as the bright light flashes and we’re transported away from Quahog.

We arrive in what appears to be an unassuming small town, with a sign proclaiming it to be Canberra, the capital of Australia. I have on a below the knee length dress and a coat above it; my hair is expertly curled and a hat is perched on top of it, along with uncomfortable but gorgeous high heels completing the ensemble. One look in my pocket mirror shows me that my lips are red and my eyes are outfitted in a plume of new dark eyelashes.

Stewie and Brian wear unassuming—for the period—suits and look perfectly content with our surroundings. We step out completely from behind the building and proceed to walk about, taking a good look at what is going on. Various forms of architecture are distinctly different than compared to the present day standards, and I am just becoming the slightest bit used to it, whereupon a gloved hand suddenly grabs my arm.

“Mary Davies!” cries the woman gripping on me. “We’ve just barely gone off the bus and you’ve gotten yourself mixed up with a pair of men!”

I find myself guilty at this declaration, so much so that I quickly lower my eyes and attempt to hide my blush. “S-sorry,” I manage to get out.

The woman, with fiery red hair to match her abrasive personality, shakes her head and tuts at me. “Mary, I know what you’re going to say. I know that you’re still not fully accepting of me as your sister-in-law, but you must come to terms with it. Robert and I have been married for over two years now.”

“Robert, yes,” I say, knowing that not to speak would be awful.

“Yes.” The girl fixes me with a look. “Mary… One would think you wouldn’t even know your own sister-in-law…”

“Mary,” says another voice, and a young man saunters up to the two of us. “Are you gritting your teeth and being polite to my wife?”

“Robert, for shame,” my apparent sister-in-law says, an annoying twitter escaping from her similarly red painted lips. “Mary knows her place.”

“She does, Dorothy,” Robert said in approval. “She knows that this trip means the world to us, and that she will do her best to behave appropriately.”

I desperately want to demand what, if anything, makes them believe that I am really this girl called Mary Davies. I mean, nobody could be a direct copy of me, could they? _It seemed nearly impossible_, I thought to myself as I was pulled into the very heart of the city, away from Stewie and Brian, who were trying their best to keep a close eye upon me. A clock tower chimed ten o’clock, and I knew that I couldn’t stay with Robert and Dorothy forever, because, sooner or later, the real Mary Davies would come about.

I motioned to Stewie and Brian that I would meet them by a fountain, which had some Greek god-looking creature in the center of it, in two hours. I crossed my fingers that I would be able to get away from Robert and Dorothy as we went further and further away from Brian and Stewie. This could not end well if this Robert person didn’t turn me lose. He was a perfect stranger, after all…

We came upon what appeared to be a factory, and I was promptly pulled inside. Ladies went to one side of the room and gentleman to the other. Robert went to join the men and clapped several on the back and shook a few hands while Dorothy twittered to a group of women on the other side of the room. Finding me not glued to her hip, she promptly pulled me to her side and proceeded to introduce me to everyone.

“Girls,” Dorothy said in her annoying tone, “you finally meet my beloved little sister-in-law, Mary Davies. Mary, this is Betty Moore,” she said, nodding to a young woman with tight blonde curls and brown eyes, “Helen Matthews,” Dorothy went on, indicating a woman with long, flowy nut-brown hair and garbed in a sensible purple dress, “Margaret Humphries,” she kept going, this time pointing out a young woman with dark hair and olive skin, “and lastly, my cousin Ruth Jones,” Dorothy finished, nodding at a woman who had the same red hair and skin that she did.

“So nice to meet you,” all the girls said as one.

“We’ve come on a very important day,” Dorothy goes on. “Not only are we to witness beer bottling for the first time, but, we’re also here to meet Mary’s fiancé.”

I nearly choked on my air. “Fiancé?” I demanded.

“Why, yes, dear, your John Collins,” Dorothy says patiently. “You informed us that he would be on the tour this afternoon…”

Quickly, I turned to the gentleman’s side of the room, where Robert was still speaking to his comrades, and I wondered which gentleman could be persuaded to pose temporarily as my fiancé. I bit my lip, trying to choose one without the telltale gold band on his finger, but also one who didn’t sport mutton chops in any way shape or form, which is when I saw Brian and Stewie slip into the group. I forced myself not to giggle at Brian’s attempt to fit in, while Stewie walked directly up to Robert and put out his hand.

“He’s over there,” I replied. “My John is standing over there, the fellow in the green suit,” I went on. “The young gentleman speaking to Robert is John’s younger brother, William,” I say softly.

“Is William married?” Ruth asks.

I nearly snort at that. “No, I don’t believe so.”

At once, Ruth looked hopeful. “Wonderful…”

“William is a complex character, I’m afraid,” I said softly. “He is nursing a broken heart at the moment, I’m afraid…”

“Anyone we know?” Dorothy asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t believe so. She was some oil heiress who had some connection or other to the royal family, or so I’m told. I met her once in passing a few months ago, before they became engaged. She broke off the engagement after she found someone that she believed was more her caliber.”

“What was her name?” Helen wants to know.

“Evelyn Morgan,” I reply, thinking of the first name to pop into my mind. “I believe her connection was to Wallis Simpson. Good riddance,” I say, shaking my head. “We wouldn’t want the likes of her connected to us in any way, would we girls?”

“It’s quite a shame,” Margaret says softly, shaking her head.

“One would think former King Edward could fall in love with a more suitable woman,” Betty said, wrinkling her nose at that.

Brian was finally able to introduce himself to Robert, while I motioned to Stewie their names and that Brian and I were supposed to be engaged. Stewie was able to relay the information to Brian, who gleefully made Robert’s better acquaintance. I watch Stewie’s lips move, and I can see that he says something along the lines of “William Collins, charmed,” before giving me a wink.

A gentleman dressed in a three-piece suit saunters up to the center of the room and calls for our attention. We ladies and gentleman watch, rapt, as he explains the beer bottling process and, although it is a new practice, that every and all employees are getting the hang of it. He then beckons us to the double doors behind him, and two guards hold them open for us, and we step through, the smell of beer filling my nostrils.

I quickly put a hand over my mouth, and Dorothy gives me a condescending look. She reaches out and yanks my hand back and then proceeds to walk ahead of me. I roll my eyes and resolutely follow her, Brian and Stewie walking on the other side of the plant with Robert and his friends. I bite my lip, wondering where the real Mary Davies is, and wonder how long this charade can go on.

The whole of the tour lasts a half an hour, and then we are led into the ladies’ lounge while the gentleman are led to the gentleman’s parlor. Dorothy and her henchman quickly plant themselves down at the rather large, rounded gilt-framed mirrors against one wall and proceed to powder their noses and face. I roll my eyes again, not wanting any of that foul-smelling, pink substance on my face.

I make a point of asking to go out for some air, and slip out of the lounge, through the back lobby, and outside. The cool air fills my lungs and I can breathe again, and it is then that I see a young man, not from the gentleman’s group, standing up against the back of the factory. He has a cigarette between his teeth and, when he sees me, flashes me a grin, still holding onto the cigarette. He pushes it to the side of his mouth and walks toward me, and I find there is something in his eyes I cannot detect. He begins reaching for my hand then, and I desperately want to run.

“Sir, excuse me!” I cry, walking several steps back.

His brows come together then. “So, you are real?”

I find myself making a face at that. “Well, of course I’m real, sir! How could I not be real? I am here, aren’t I?”

The man shakes his head. “Got you confused with someone else,” he says, throwing his cigarette onto the ground, allowing it to go out before he walks away from me.

. . .

Robert surprises the five of us with tickets to a play I’ve never heard of called _Lady in Danger_, and insists that we head directly to the theater. We get there promptly by stage coach and I am annoyed that Stewie finds the prospect of attending a play exciting. All I want to do is return to Quahog, and to get away from Robert and Dorothy. Also, there is something about the man in the three-piece suit that doesn’t sit well with me, and I wonder what my—or, rather, Mary Davies’s—connection with him really is.

We arrive at some nondescript-looking building when Robert shouts to the coachman that we’ve got the wrong street. We turn the corner and arrive at a brilliant-looking structure which reads Canberra Playhouse. It has beautiful cream-colored pillars stationed just a few feet ahead of its double doors, one of which has been opened and several dozens of people are flocking inside. Robert pays the man and we exit the stage coach, heading down the short path and into the building, where we hand over our tickets to an impressive little man with salt and pepper hair who reminds me of a grasshopper in a tweed suit.

We are greeted to the sight of maroon carpets upon the ground and gorgeous oil lamps against the wall. Many individuals mill about in this massive, high-ceilinged lobby, all in different states of dress. I notice that the people who are dressed commonly are descending stairs to sit close to the stage, while Robert and Dorothy lead the way towards a grand staircase, which they immediately climb. Brian, Stewie, and I immediately follow them up the three flights of stairs, until we get to another set of double doors. We go in at once, arriving in a semi-dark corridor where several doors greet our eyes.

We pass six or so doors until stopping at one, to which Robert produces a brass key and unlocks it effortlessly. We all step inside, and Robert and Dorothy sit to the right while Stewie takes the middle seat and Brian and I sit on the end. We sit in silence for a few moments until the burgundy curtain to my left rustles a bit and a pair of dark eyes peeks out from behind it.

“Robert, old fellow,” says the man from behind it, and I nearly squeak with surprise when I realize that it is the man in the three-piece suit.

“Charles St. Andrew!” Robert cries, getting to his feet and crossing towards the curtain and shaking the man’s hand. “It’s been almost two years…”

“Just got back from London,” Charles replies.

“Oh, I remember the fellows mentioning that,” Robert nods. “I heard tell that you were up for a knighthood, old boy…”

Charles chuckles and shakes his head. “I was.”

“Well? Did you get it or did you decline it? That King George is getting a bit old to do that sort of thing, isn’t he?” Robert demanded a bit crassly.

“Yes, well… I did not decline it, Robert. You’re looking at _Sir_ Charles St. Andrew now, I’m afraid, old sport.”

“I heard tell your engagement to Mildred Greene fell through,” Robert said, making an effort to speak softly, and failed. “I was sorry to hear of it.”

Charles shrugged. “Well, I’m afraid that your sister never left my thoughts,” he replies, his eyes drifting to me for a moment before turning back to Robert. “I was so sorry when I heard of the accident just months before I pursued Mildred…”

_Accident_?! I thought to myself. _But…I was right here! Well, standing in for her, but still…_ I was truly beginning to wonder where the real Mary Davies was…

“Yes, we were all quite devastated, some more than others,” Robert replies, turning to look at me as Charles had done before allowing his eyes to slide back to Charles.

Abruptly, I get to my feet. “Excuse me,” I say pointedly, and dash out of there. I had to get some air. I had to figure this out. I had to know who I was impersonating, and, if that was the case, if the girl I was pretending to be was dead, or brain damaged…or something. I run down the hall in the wrong direction and find myself on a balcony, which overlooks the rest of the city streets before stretching out into the country. I am up so high that I can see over the trees, and onto some farm land beyond. I found my palms were sweating, and I knew that I needed answers, sooner rather than later…

“I thought I might find you here.”

The voice sends the hairs on the back of my neck shooting upwards as I turn to get a good look at _Sir_ Charles St. Andrew. “Yes, well… Air was needed, I’m afraid, Sir Andrew…”

He sighs. “No need for formality, Mary. I’ve known you for a great deal of time, as I’m sure you remember.”

“Of course I remember,” I snap lightly back, making an effort to sound annoyed that he would believe I would forget something like that.

“I apologize.” He strides towards me and stands next to me; he does not touch me, rather, he rests his beautiful hands on the bar of the balcony and looks far off into the distance, almost as if he is deep in thought. “It’s quite beautiful here. London is quite nice, too. I think you would like it.”

“Do you?”

“I do.” He looks at me and sighs. “I assume you’re a bit offended by my manner towards you earlier. For that, I apologize, Mary.”

“What happened?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Before Mildred Greene, I mean. Why did you break off the engagement, Charles? Please. I would know.”

He sighs. “Anna and I were too different.”

My eyebrows come together at that. _Anna_? _Who was Anna_? “How were you different?” I ask him, knowing that I must keep the conversation going.

“I apologize for saying so, Mary, but your twin sister was just so… Dull,” he says, shaking his head at that. “I don’t understand it,” he says, taking another look at me. “She never wanted to do more than to sip tea or to stitch something, not to mention her submissive nature around me… She never once offered her opinion. I’d smoke a cigar in front of her, and she would wrinkle her nose and show distaste for it. Naturally, I would want her to be comfortable around me, so I would volunteer to put it out and smoke another one later, when we were apart. But she refused! She claimed that, as a man, I was superior to her and, therefore, should not be allowed discomfort.”

“Yes, my sister had some old world views, I admit,” I say softly.

“What would you do?”

I turn and look at him. “Excuse me?”

He sighs. “If I were to light a cigar right now, what would you do or say?”

I consider it briefly. “There are several things I could say, Charles. I could simply inform you that I did not care if you smoked a cigar or not. Or, I could tell you to stand a certain amount of feet away from me and then allow the wind to carry the scent off. A third option is to inform you that I find the very practice disgusting and if you were to ever do it around me, I would personally see to it that you never smoked again. Or, I could simply say that the whole practice of smoking tobacco causes disease and should not be attempted or done in any circumstances…”

Charles stares at me with some kind of new understanding, and seems duly impressed by this. “I see,” he replies. “So, Mary, I have a mind to smoke a cigar right now. What would you say to that?”

“Despite its nature of causing harm, I would ask for one myself,” I reply, challenging him, wanting to know just how far I could get.

He chuckles at that and produces the cigar. “I’ve got one to spare, no more, no less,” he tells me.

I quickly grab it, along with his small book of matches and strike one, lighting the end of the poison-filled log and position it perfectly between my teeth. The light of the fire shines in both our eyes for a moment while I free a bit of my lips to blow it out. I take a puff of the cigar and find it so strong that I gag. I promptly spit it out onto the ground and drop the book of matches before retching over the side of the balcony.

Normally, I would expect any gentleman to laugh—I’m sure Brian would under these circumstances—but Charles does no such thing. He puts his hand upon my back and puts a bit of pressure on it as my retching stops. Nothing came out, thank goodness, and it felt much better to get that death log out from my mouth. I raise myself up then and retreat to the bench on the other side of the balcony, rubbing my temples as I go.

“You know, I never wanted Anna to be my wife.”

I blink and raise my eyes to his. “What are you talking about?”

Charles sighs and crosses the balcony towards me, sitting beside me and taking my hand into his large ones. “Anna, as your elder twin by a matter of minutes, had to be married off before you did. I expressed my interest for you to Robert, but he laughed at the idea. I had a mind to court you, but was refused, I’m afraid. That left Anna, an exact copy of you, in the physical sense, but it was not the same.”

“How?” I asked.

“The difference between you and Anna is the fact that she is beautiful, but knows next to nothing about the world today and what changes will come. You, on the other hand, you, Mary Davies, are fully prepared for the world ahead. You embody everything that I would ever want in a wife…”

I look away. “Charles…”

“Look at me,” he says, guiding my chin back towards him. “I know you’re getting married to John Collins, but I must know… Have you ever felt more for me?”

A lump rose in my throat then. _Vivienne, you’ve just met the man_, my first voice said. The second one, however, said, _Girl, get in there_!_ You could be a freaking lady_! “John and I are getting married…” I say weakly.

“You sound doubtful,” Charles remarks.

I lower my eyes. “Perhaps… But he is my fiancé…”

“I care not!” Charles says heatedly then, making a grab for my chin then and forcing it upwards, his lips descending onto mine.

I try my best to keep my mouth shut. It’s not right, it’s not right… “Charles… Someone may see us!” I cry, and begin to struggle to get away.

He takes the opportunity and silences me with an open-mouthed kiss. “I care not,” he says again, and does not stop.

I know I cannot do this. I cannot allow this to happen. I finally work up the strength to shove myself away from him. “I am not Mary Davies,” I say through my teeth.

He chuckles at that. “Then who are you?”

“My name is Vivienne Shaw,” I reply. “I am from the future.”

Charles laughs at that, clearly not believing me as he kisses me again, and I try and fail to fight him off.

A creak from behinds us startles me, and I see Brian standing in the doorway, shocked at what he’s seen. At once, I get to my feet, straightening my skirt as Brian walks away from the two of us. Hurt fills me then and, rather than slapping Charles that I so long to do, I merely follow the dog that I love.

“Brian.” I follow him down the corridor, not even attempting to call him John. “Brian.” My voice is more firm this time, but it is borderline desperation. “Brian, please, stop,” I go on, the choking sensation entering the back of my throat as tears enter my eyes.

Stewie is waiting for us at the end of the hall. No questions asked, he throws the return pad down and we all three get onto it, and, in a flash of blue light, we are back in Stewie’s bedroom. I promptly follow Brian out of there, and feel the desperation and adrenaline flowing through me as I walk behind him. He stomps down the stairs and through the living room, leaving out the front door, which I quickly close behind him. I am calling his name, but he is not listening to me as he heads into the Browns’ garage and up the stairs to the apartment.

“Brian?” I say, the tears completely ruining my make-up. “Brian, you don’t understand, really you don’t…”

He ignores me and proceeds to throw his various belongings into a bag, and a cool chill goes down my spine. He lastly packs up his laptop, and walks over to the staircase before going down it. I don’t know what hurts me the most—the fact that he left; the fact that he wouldn’t talk to me or let me explain; or the fact that he didn’t look back.

. . .

I hear nothing from Brian over the next week, even though I text, call, and email him. I finally decide to take advice from Stewie and back off, not knowing what else to do. After another week goes by and it is the penultimate weekend of March, Stewie decides to take me to the guys’ haunt—The Drunken Clam.

Initially reluctant to take Stewie to a bar—after an online story that I read that Stewie drunk drove Brian’s Prius into the Clam—he reveals his fake I.D. and that he won’t drink. I tell him that I’ll go, so I grab a sweater and we head over there. I meet the friendly owner, a man of African American descent named Jerome, who tells me that I would probably make a good friend and mentor for his daughter, Pam. I tell Jerome that I would be happy to meet her at any time, and order a shot of tequila.

Three shots later and I force myself to stop, for I feel as if I am the perfect amount of buzzed at the moment. Given that the Clam is merely minutes away, I’d walked there with Stewie that night, so there was no DUI or DWI’s in the future. I am just about to ask Stewie a question when he looks shocked at something across the room.

Turning, I see Brian making out with and feeling up Bonnie Swanson. Peter, Quagmire, Cleveland, and Joe are nowhere in sight, but a part of me wishes that they were. I cannot believe what I am seeing now, but it fills me with a certain amount of dread. I can’t take this anymore, and suddenly the world swims around me.

“Vivienne?” Stewie asks, looking at me in a concerned manner. “Are you all right? You look like hell…”

_Gee, thanks_, I think to myself.

“Viv? Gonna answer me?” he asks playfully. “Come on. What’s the matter with you? Is anything wrong?”

I bite my lip, hoping that I _am_ wrong. _Please…let me be wrong here_, I think to myself as I feel sick to my stomach. I watch as Stewie motions for Jerome to grab a bucket, which I promptly hurl into. Shaking, I look up to see everyone in the bar staring at me, with a handful of guys in the corner laughing at me and calling me a “lightweight”.

I do my best to ignore their comments as Jerome considerably hands over a wet rag for me to wipe my face with. I shiver at the cool temperature of it, but somehow it gets me back to where my mind is supposed to be. Biting my lip, I think long and hard about what could be causing this, and I think I know why… I cross my fingers that is just stress and that I’ll be just fine.

But there are certain things you can’t change. Certain things that are unavoidable at various points during your lifetime. I shivered again, and raised my eyes to Stewie, knowing that I looked terrible, and that my eyes were bloodshot. I didn’t know what to do, but Stewie looked at me in a comforting manner.

“Well?” Stewie demands. “What’s the matter?”

I lower my eyes, biting on my lip ever so slightly. “I’m late,” I reply, feeling utterly ashamed by uttering those words.


	6. Going Solo

The next several weeks are uneventful, and the second week in April brings about quarterly evaluations. I am able to type them up quickly, and send them off to my various instructors before heading to the Quahog General Hospital for my appointment with Dr. Hartman. The journey is uneventful and short, and soon I am sitting in the waiting room, filling out the mandatory forms.

Within fifteen minutes, I’m shown to an exam room where a nurse of Asian descent skims my information and types up things that I tell her into the computer. She nods occasionally and asks the staple questions before turning to me. “You’re worried that you may be pregnant?”

I nod. “Yes.”

She gives me an accusing look. “Aren’t you on birth control?”

I feel the urge to slap her for her rudeness. “Yes,” I reply curtly, “but I as formally explained to Dr. Hartman in my email, I’d been having some headaches over the last couple of weeks that I was having which he attributes to my birth control pills. He put me on a different kind of pill about six or seven weeks ago…”

“Please tell me you used a condom,” she says, wrinkling her lips at me.

“Yes,” I say, drawing my fingers close to my palm, as I am becoming more and more tempted to scratch her eyes out.

She sighs. She gets up and leaves the room before returning with a cup. “You’ll take this into the bathroom and provide a urine sample,” she tells me slowly, in a more than a little condescending manner. “If we don’t get anything, we may need you to do a blood test. Do you think you can handle that?”

I look at her squarely in the eye as I take the cup from her. “Oh, I think I can. I’m only human, so fear is inevitable for certain things, but needles aren’t one of them,” I reply levelly to her. “What I can’t handle is your attitude towards me. Sounds to me like you haven’t been laid in a while. Do you think that by making me feel guilty I’ll abstain from sex? Because, if I’m being honest, that’s really none of your business.”

She narrows her eyes slightly. “Would you like a different nurse?”

“Please,” I reply, turning and going into the en suite bathroom and shutting and locking the door behind me. I go to the toilet and pull down my jeans, sitting upon the bowl and managing to fit the cup in between my legs. After I’ve gotten the sample, I put the cup onto the back of the toilet before doing everything necessary before washing my hands. I flush the toilet and make a grab for the sample cup again before stepping out of the bathroom, where a man with a light brown mustache is waiting for me.

“Oh, hey!” he cries in an effeminate voice. “My name is Nurse Bruce, I’m part of an outreach program.”

“Really?” I ask, wondering if “outreach program” is code for “not medically educated”, but fight to keep my tone civil. After all, he’s not a mean nurse, at least, not from the outset of it all. He actually seemed quite kind and unassuming, and I immediately wondered if he was acquainted with Stewie. “That’s nice.”

He nods. “I know!” he cries, grinning at me. “Took some classes at the learning annex a few months back to qualify and here I am.” He looks over my chart and the information that the other nurse put into the computer. “Well, it seems as if Nurse Mei Ling mentioned that you two didn’t really see eye to eye, but that’s all right. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Glad to hear it,” I say.

“Well, looks to me like you think you may have a little mini Vivienne Shaw inside there,” he says with a smile. “Don’t you worry; I’m going to make you that you are comfortable for the duration of your appointment.” He finds a cap for my urine sample and caps the cup before going to the door. “I’m just going to bring this down to the lab for you. Dr. Hartman should be with you shortly.”

“Nice meeting you, Bruce,” I say softly.

“Bye,” he says in a sing-song voice before slipping out of the room and out into the hallway, and through the doors’ window I can see where he turns a corner to where I presume the lab is located.

I bring my knees upwards towards my chest and rest my chin upon them, allowing myself to sway back and forth on the operating table. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I check it, seeing that Stewie is video calling me. I swipe the green phone icon to the right and see his adorable, football-shaped head bouncing about on my screen.

“Vivienne! I saw you drive off several minutes ago, but Lois insisted on a game of peek-a-boo,” he said a little impatiently. “Where are you?”

I sigh, lowering my eyes. “I’m at the hospital, Stewie,” I reply.

At once, he looks concerned. “At the hospital, Vivienne?!” he cries a little too loudly. “Really, truly?! Why?!”

“Stewie, did you take Mommy’s cell phone again?” I hear in the background as Lois picks up the phone and looks at it as Stewie shouts “No!” in the same moment. “Huh, this doesn’t look like my phone… It’s a newer model. Is that…is that Vivienne?”

“Hi, Lois,” I say softly.

“They have Skype on phones now?” she asks me.

“Sort of,” I reply. “It’s called FaceTime.”

Lois squints a little. “Huh. Really looks like you’re in one of the rooms of the Quahog Hospital…” She gasps then. “Oh, my god… Are you at the hospital, Vivienne?”

I sigh. “Yes, Lois.”

“Oh, my god…” She cries out as the screen goes black.

Shrugging it off, I move to lie on my back, watching the various patterns of holes up on the tiles of the ceiling. My eyes begin to grow heavy and, as I rest my hands upon my chest, I allow myself to relax. I haven’t been able to get a good nights’ sleep in weeks, due to the fact that I’ve been stressing about school and my relationship with Brian. I must’ve fallen asleep because I suddenly become aware of a loud noise jostling me awake. Sitting up, I can see Lois barging into my room, holding onto Stewie as well.

“Lois?” I ask, confused.

“Oh, thank god you’re all right!” she says, not objecting when Stewie reaches for me, and hands him over without hesitation.

I give her a tight smile. “Yeah…”

She sighs. “Vivienne, what’s wrong? I know you’re on the outs with Brian, but I was really hoping that we could be friends, and friends tell each other when they’re in the hospital for something—anything. Don’t you want to be friends?”

I bite my lip, shifting Stewie a bit so as he is sitting on my legs. “Of course I want to be friends, Lois. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I deliberately put distance between us because of my past…”

She pulls up a chair to the side of the exam table and sits down. “What happened in your past, Vivienne?”

“My mother and father disowned me,” I reply. “I was back in their good graces for almost two years a while back, but that was only because I was engaged to a rich man. I cared about him, but he cheated on me. And then they didn’t want anything to do with me. He said that the engagement ending was my fault…”

“And you have solid evidence of him cheating on you?”

I nod. “I _saw_ it,” I say softly to her. “Walked in on it at the hospital—he’s a surgeon, like my brother,” I explain. “He was in the office with some slut and…” I lower my eyes, forcing myself not to cry. “It broke my heart… He essentially said that he was busy and for me to leave and I gave him the ring back…”

“I hope you shoved it down that whore’s throat,” Lois muttered, shaking her head. “You poor thing! I’m so sorry.”

“Go, Lois,” Stewie said softly, letting out a giggle.

“So, why are you here?” she wants to know. “From what Donna said, you never get sick—you told her and Cleveland that within the first week of you watching the kids, so you’d always be able to watch them. What’s going on?”

I sighed. “I was feeling really anxious about Brian and about school,” I say quietly. “I didn’t think anything of it when I missed my period—I’ve never been particularly regular and I’m on these new birth control pills,” I tell her. “Well, things didn’t go well when I started throwing up at the smell of cooked chicken—that’s what happens in my family,” I say. “When my mom found out she was pregnant with my brother, and then with me, that’s what set her off. I love chicken,” I say passionately. “It’s my favorite meat and now I…” I lower my eyes, hoping that Lois will be supportive.

“Wait a minute… Vivienne… Are you saying that you could be pregnant?!” Lois demands in a moment of shock.

I sigh. “I think I could be,” I tell her.

A knock at the door comes then and Dr. Hartman lets himself in. He politely greets me, Lois, and Stewie before heading over to the computer and going over my file to look over the nature of my visit. He skims through both Mei Ling’s and Bruce’s reports for a few moments; the only sound the four of us can hear is the obnoxious ticking of the wall clock from the 1980’s on one of the walls.

Dr. Hartman turns to us after a few moments and sighs. “Well, it seems as if your urine sample provided inconclusive results,” he says in a reserved tone. “We’ll have to take some blood to be sure. They’ll take about a day to figure out.”

I sigh, unknowing as to what was coming. “Okay,” I reply.

. . .

Lois tells me that I am more than welcome to come over after my appointment, but I opt to go back to the garage apartment. Stewie joins me and I pour him a glass of apple juice before we go sit on the couch to watch the latest _Law & Order: Special Victims Unit_. I watch as Stewie tries not to laugh at Fin’s various outbursts to serious situations.

“What?” I ask him during a commercial break.

“No, it’s good,” he says, sipping his apple juice. “It’s just… Fin is just such a funny guy. Why did he ever become a detective? That man would seriously benefit from doing some stand-up. Am I right?”

“No,” I say, swatting him gently. “He’s very good at what he does.” I shift a little, bringing my left leg under me. “I like Olivia. Not just because she’s a woman, but because she shows what our country is capable of.”

“Oh?” Stewie asks. “You’re a Hillary Clinton fan?”

I blush. “Yes.”

“Ah,” Stewie says. “Brian is more of a Bernie fan.”

I lower my eyes, nibbling a bit on my lower lip. “Somehow I figured that out,” I say quietly to him, hunching my shoulders ever so slightly.

Stewie immediately smacks his forehead to his little hand. “Dammit, Viv, I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “God, I can’t believe I forgot…” He purses his lips and looks me up and down. “Do you think the time machine thing applies to the whole CT scan/X-ray thing?” he asks me then, peering at my stomach.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you know how doctors and technicians aren’t allowed to perform CT scans and X-rays on women who may be pregnant?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Well, do you think my time machine applies?” he wants to know.

I shrug. “We don’t even know if I’m even pregnant,” I tell him.

He sighs. “I know.” He bits his lip briefly as the show comes back on. “It’s not the same ever since B.D. Wong left the main cast…”

I shake my head. “Stabler was the front-runner for a reason,” I reply. “And Captain… I miss them,” I say softly.

He nods. “You’re not very happy now, are you, Vivienne?”

I sigh. “No, I’m not. The guy that I love is dating other women and isn’t speaking to me; I may be pregnant with his child; I have more schooling to do; my parents don’t speak to me; and I don’t want to appear to be a burden on my brother and sister-in-law. I have a lot of shit to sift through…”

Stewie gets to his feet and takes me by the hand, pulling me through the living room, down the garage apartment stairs, through the garage, down the driveway, across the street, and into the Griffin house. He ignores Brian, seated on the couch with Peter and Chris, and yanks me up the stairs and into his bedroom. I feel a lump rise in my throat when I hear Brian’s toenails upon the stairs as he rushes after us, and manages to slip into Stewie’s bedroom before he manages to kick the door shut.

“What the hell are you doing here, Brian?!” Stewie demands, rounding on him immediately and glaring at him. “How dare you show your face in here?!”

“I could ask your guest the same thing,” Brian says, barely glancing at me before putting the full effect of his glare on Stewie. “Why is _she_ here?!”

“I’m tired of this bullshit,” I say, running my hands through my hair.

I turn away and find myself going into a fetal position as Brian and Stewie continue to scream at each other. I remember my parents doing the same thing involving me—the first time was when I confessed to being an atheist; the second time was when I ended my engagement to Colin; and the third time was when I’d decided to move to Quahog. I could picture my parents screaming and berating me and I found I was projecting them onto Brian and Stewie. I felt myself shaking as I saw my mother calling me a stupid bitch and my father calling me a worthless whore. Tears blind my vision as I turn towards Stewie’s window which, if you look through it, you’re able to see Cleveland’s house. I suddenly find myself running towards it; I barely hear the glass shattering; I don’t even feel the glass cutting into me as I launch myself through the panes. No screams belonging to me cut through the air and I lower my eyes; the concrete of the driveway below seems to be springing up to meet me, and I allow myself to shut my eyes, preparing for the blackness.

However, a white light suddenly appears around me, and I feel as if I am being yanked backwards and back through the window. I am thrown, hard, onto Stewie’s bedroom floor and, as I look up, Brian and Stewie are staring at me, stunned expressions on their faces. I manage to pick myself up and, shaking my head, see that the window is all back in one piece and that my clothes aren’t torn and I’m not bleeding.

“What happened?” I manage to get out.

“You tried to kill yourself,” Brian said, his voice shaking with emotion.

“It gave me an opportunity to try out my new invention,” Stewie tells me softly. “It’s the Backwards Effector,” he says. “It takes recent events and essentially employs a rewind button, where you’re able to undo the events, but still retain knowledge of their happening and existence.”

I rub my head and shift so as I am sitting. “Wow… Jeez. I can’t believe I did that…”

“Neither can I,” Brian says.

I sigh. “Stewie? I think I’m up for a little adventure…”

“That wasn’t enough for you?!” Brian demands.

“You can stay here if you like,” Stewie replies smoothly.

“No!” Brian shouts. “I-I mean, no. I’ll come along.”

“Fine,” Stewie says. He presses the hidden pad on the wall so that the time machine presents itself to us again. We all troop inside and I barely notice Stewie typing in the year 1929 and the location of England.

The white light comes around us then and we are soon launched once again through time and space and into the roaring 20’s across the ocean. We step out from behind a rather large shrub and I lower my eyes to see myself in a slightly-above-the-ankle dress with a furred coat, high heels, a little hat, and a furred scarf. Brian and Stewie wear long overcoats and hats along with what appears to be matching suits and coordinating shoes.

We walk along the streets and everything appears to be normal; when we pass by a small newsstand, however, apprehension seizes me. Peeking at the date, I see that it is the twenty-eighth of October, 1929. Something seemed eerily familiar about that date, yet I found I was unable to place it. As we walked along, men and women seemed to be reveling in their time together; couples could be seen window-shopping, flirting, and laughing with one another as we walked along.

We find ourselves at the Vaudeville Theatre and buy a ticket—by some miracle, there were pounds in our pockets—and settle down to watch the girls with bouncing curls and frilly skirts sing and dance about days past. We clapped and chanted along with the rest of the audience, and I tried my best to master a perfect English accent. The show goes on for another hour or so, and soon we walk back outside, to chaos.

Men and women are screaming and running along, panic running rampant in the streets, and I feel a chill going up and down my spine. We continue walking through the crowd, stumbling and tripping over everyone else, and I finally realize what has happened. A crowd has gathered at the London Stock Exchange, and the doors have been barred shut. A massive banner is draped on the doors and windows, saying that a crash has happened in America, and that it has come across the Channel to London.

The crowds deafening screams are getting to me, so Stewie, Brian, and I walk a little so as the sounds go down ever so slightly. Looking up, I see a man and a woman, probably in their fifties, looking quite disgruntled. Something is familiar about this pair of people, yet I cannot place what it is.

“Cheer up, Henry,” the woman says. “At least we are American.”

“I will try, Margaret,” the man called Henry replies. “We should return across the Channel quite soon. Poor Mildred and Thomas will be missing us.”

I felt as if I was going to be sick. I couldn’t believe what was happening.

“These filthy Brits will never know what hit them,” Margaret goes on. “At least we put in good investments when we did.”

“Vivienne?” Brian asks then. “Viv? Are you all right?”

I shake my head. “Those are my great-grandparents,” I say softly to him. “Thomas was my grandfather on my father’s side…”

“We shall be all right, Margaret my dear,” Henry says. “Once we get back to our better country, we shall see just how perfectly the whites are treated.”

Stewie throws down the return pad then and presses a button before a white light surrounds us and we’re off. When the lights faded and I became aware of my surroundings, I realized that we were standing on the Eiffel Tower. It was twilight, and the clouds were a mixture of deep blue and an appealing pink. Stewie immediately wandered off—well, a few feet away, at least—leaving me and Brian by ourselves. I pursed my lips and turned away, tempted to run off and become lost in the streets of Paris.

“We should talk…”

“Should we?” I ask. “I don’t know if I have anything to say to you. As a matter of fact, I don’t know if I even want to say anything to you.”

“Vivienne…”

“No.” My voice is firm. “I can’t keep doing this.” I sigh. “I love you, Brian Griffin, but just loving you isn’t enough anymore.” I lower my eyes. “Living in Quahog… I thought it was going to be different, maybe better.” I turn to look at him, tears in my eyes. “Moving here was a mistake. A big, fat mistake, and I can’t take it anymore.” I turn and look at the skyline again, shaking my head. “Fucking Paris…”

“Vivienne,” Brian says, taking my hand.

I don’t pull away. “Don’t…”

He gently pulls me downward, so as I am eye-level to him. “I’m a dick, I know that. Don’t you think I know that?! But seeing you wrapped in Charles’ arms…”

I pull myself away from him. “Dammit, Brian, why can’t you just let that go?! You didn’t even let me explain,” I say through gritted teeth as I turn away from him. “Charles was so convinced that I was Anna’s twin sister Mary that he just wouldn’t stop! He just would not stop convincing himself of my supposed identity and then he was kissing me. I told him to stop, that me and John—you, rather—were engaged but he kept saying that he didn’t care about that. He _wanted _me, Brian. Desperately. But I knew full well that I couldn’t be disloyal to you, because I love you.” I turn back to look at him. “I love you so much, Brian.”

He immediately closes the distance between us and pulls down my neck so that our lips are meeting. Tears commingle with one another as we hold each other, and it breaks my heart when I force myself to pull away. As I do so, I see the hurt in his eyes.

“No.” I shake my head. “No, Brian, we can’t. It’s over. It’s done. We’re over.” A clap of thunder resonates behind me as if to prove my point, and rain begins to fall around the both of us. “I respect myself too much to allow myself to be with you. I can’t do this anymore, Brian; I’m not the right girl for you.”

“Vivienne…”

“No.” I hold up my hand, my tears mixing with the rain. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Stewie, finally seeing that it’s not going to work, crosses back towards us. He lowers the return pad slowly onto the ground and the white light surrounds us again. We end up back in his bedroom again, and I go over to stand by the window. I lean my head up against the wall and find myself at a loss for what to do. Hopelessly alone, emotionally, that is, I know that a plan will have to be made.

I feel my phone buzzing then and I look to see that it is the Quahog Hospital calling me and I wonder the reason behind it. “Excuse me,” I say, more for politeness than for anything else at that point. I swipe the green phone button and cross my fingers in the hope that Mei Ling isn’t on the other end. “Hello?”

“Vivienne? Dr. Hartman.”

“Hello, Dr. Hartman,” I say. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, everything’s fine,” he says. “We’ve managed to clear the backlog in our lab down here and we’ve got your blood work back.”

Immediately, I get to my feet. “Okay…”

“You’re definitely pregnant, Vivienne,” he tells me. “Congratulations.”

I feel myself stiffen. “Oh. Thank you, Dr. Hartman.” I hang up then, not wanting to hear anything else, and hope that he will email the rest of the information to me.

“Are you?” Stewie asks, leaving Brian to wonder.

“No.” I shake my head. “False alarm. All the tests at school must’ve gotten to me.” I check the time on my phone. “I’ve got to go. I promised Donna I’d look after Rallo tonight. I’ll see you later, Stewie.” I breeze past without saying anything to Brian, and make my way down the hall and stairs and through the living room. I say goodnight to the rest of the Griffins and make my way out the door and across the street.

I go upstairs to the garage apartment. Donna didn’t ask me to watch Rallo that evening; he is in bed with a cold and she is looking after him. I lock the door to the stairs and walk over to the window briefly to see if anyone from the Griffin house is looking in. I pull the curtains just to make sure.

I then take out my phone again and dial a familiar number. Tears fill my eyes as the voice answers my call. “Paul, hi, it’s me.”

“Viv, hey little sister,” he says. “How’re you?”

I find myself crying openly now. “I did something really stupid…”

“Viv? Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

I sigh. “Paul, I’m pregnant,” I say, and continue to sob.

“Oh, Viv… It’s okay, it’s all going to be okay…” He hesitates for a moment and I hear him calling someone in. “Viv, you’re on speaker. Sarah’s here.”

“Sarah,” I blubber into the phone.

“Sweetie? You okay?” she asks.

“Don’t make me say it again,” I beg Paul softly.

“Sar, she’s pregnant,” Paul says quietly.

“Where’s Brian?” she asks. “I assume he’s the father.”

“Yes,” I reply shakily. “He doesn’t know.”

“Why doesn’t he know?” Paul asks. “I thought he was living there…”

“He broke up with me—long story,” I say softly. “He wanted to get back together but I turned him down. I can’t do it anymore—all this back and forth. I love him, but it’s not good for me, and I have a baby to think about now…”

Paul sighs. “Viv, do you want to come home?”

“Well…”

“Viv, you’re always welcome,” Sarah says. “With our babies due so close, it’ll be good to have you around. Please come,” she tells me.

I sigh. I peek through the curtains again. “I do want to come home,” I tell them. “And I want to stay. I’ll keep going to school—online, for the time being—and I’ll get my degree. I’ll get a job as planned and my own place…”

“Well,” Sarah says, “about that…”

“What?” I ask.

“Edwin and Nellie Goodwin just sold their property—you remember our neighbors?” Paul asks me. “Nellie made those caramel apples.”

“I remember,” I reply.

“Well, they sold their property, but they want their house knocked down… They sold it to us,” Sarah says gleefully. “We bought the land at a steal, and we’re going to use it to build a guest house…for you. In case you ever wanted to come back permanently.”

“A guest house?!” I cry. “For me?!”

“All for you,” Paul tells me. “We want you to be close to us.”

I smile. “I don’t know what to say…”

“So don’t say anything,” Sarah says.

“Just a thank you would be in order…” Paul tries.

“Hey!” I cry.

“I’m still working on his manners,” Sarah tells me.

“Gosh, I’m speechless,” I say.

“Yes, say yes,” Paul chants. “Say yes, say yes, say yes…”

“Gosh, peer pressure much,” Sarah scolds.

I roll my eyes. “Only the best from Dr. Paul…”

“Which reminds me, you’ll need an appointment with my OB/GYN,” Sarah says in an astute manner. “Dr. Michelle Harper is such a nice woman. You’ll really like her.”

“I hope so,” I say quietly, looking in the direction of the Griffin house.

“So…that’s a yes?” Paul asks.

I sigh. “Yes, I suppose it is,” I reply. “I’ll have to talk to the Browns’, give them my two weeks’ notice and everything…”

“References,” Sarah says gleefully.

“Even though I barely kept the job here…and so many perks…”

“Are you tempted to stay?” Paul asks me.

I blink. “What do you mean?”

“I think he’s asking if there’s anything holding you back,” Sarah tells me, easily translating my brother’s words for me.

I sigh, letting go of the curtain, my view of the Griffin house obliterated completely. “No,” I tell them both. “Not anymore.”


	7. What About Love…

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. We would like to thank you for choosing Alaskan Airways, and we remind you to put your tray table into the upright position as we descend. It is about fifty-seven degrees and overcast, typical weather for Washington State. As you can clearly see, if you’re on the left side of the place, you can just make out the Tacoma Dome to the south. To the north, on your right, Downtown Seattle. Thank you again for choosing Alaskan Airways, and we’ll be landing shortly.”

I quickly push my tray table into the upright position so as a thinner-than-me, hotter-than-me stewardess with perfectly color coordinated lipstick and foundation to go with her uniform won’t lean over me and demand that I do so. Rolling my eyes at the thought, I look out my window and make out Downtown Seattle. I am one of only a handful of people in first class section—courtesy of Paul—and I manage to extend my legs so as I can properly pop my back before the seatbelt sign flashes on. When it does, I hastily buckle it so as the flight attendants don’t wave their perfect haircuts in my face and demand to know—in a rather condescending manner—if I need assistance.

I feel the plane tipping forward ever so slightly as we properly begin landing. I cross my arms as I remember the argument that Paul and I had about me driving back. It would have taken almost forty-five hours, give or take what traffic looked like, and he didn’t want me to be on the road for that long by myself. Planes were safer, he’d insisted, and he had even bought me a first-class ticket behind my back to sweeten the deal. Not even a blanket and pillow—which had been delivered to me only after I woke up, when I had needed them to sleep—hadn’t helped. The pillow was half the size as my head and wouldn’t appropriate for someone much bigger than Rallo or Stewie, while the blanket was a scratchy cheap number that could only be found abandoned at the back of a Goodwill or something.

We landed quickly and seemingly in a normal manner and I immediately got to my feet to retrieve my duffel bag from the overhead compartment. It was a stylish pink number which Sarah had bought for me that last Christmas. I smoothed my hand briefly over the familiar material and nodded to myself. It had been a few weeks since my last conversation with Paul and Sarah, and it was agreed that I would leave now, in the second week of June, so as I could receive college credit for that quarter. Seventy-five percent or so of my credits transferred to the University of Washington, so I would easily be able to continue my education in Seattle in the fall, once my car was transported back across state lines and back into my care in my hometown.

I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder, switching my laptop case to my other arm as I made my way carefully off the plane and into the terminal. I walked steadily along the tiled floor, following the crowd of other first-class people and made my way towards baggage claim, where either Sarah or Paul would fetch me. Finding the signs leading in the right direction—as well as taking my cue from the others around me—I managed to find the ever-winding carousel which soon began expelling colorful bags for all to see. I soon found my roller and managed to lift it up and set it onto the ground before I felt a strong yet gentle hand upon my shoulder.

Turning, I let out a cry of joy as Paul stood there, promptly dropping my things as I threw my arms around him. He explains that Sarah has taken her kids to see her parents at their lake cabin for the weekend—all the way in Spokane—and that he got the weekend off so he’s all mine. I smile at that and allow him to take my roller and duffel as we make our way towards the elevator, chatting about this and that, especially Hillary Clinton’s victory. Paul bitingly still supports Bernie Sanders, and I will not fault him for it, although I believe that Hillary is the better-suited candidate for the position. And don’t get me started on that hairpiece, loud-mouthed, orange-faced Trump… Whoever insults Rosie O’Donnell is no friend of mine, rich and famous person or not.

He presses his parking garage floor button and soon we are pulled downwards to the fourth car garage and we step out. Cars and more cars dot the various parking spaces, but Paul is able to find his brand-new 2017 black BMW 5 Series. It gives off a rare sleekness that many cars today don’t have—while most are flashy sleek or overdone sleek, this sleek is classic and cannot be messed with or competed with. I slide into the passenger seat after Paul unlocks the doors and slips my roller suitcase into the trunk and my duffel bag into the back seat behind us. He sits next to me in the driver’s seat and slips the key into the ignition as we drive off, soon managing to make it to the highway.

We decide to steer clear of Clinton vs. Sanders talk, for while I am ready for Hillary, Paul desperately wants him and everyone around him to feel the Bern. We manage to obtain the coveted speed limit of approximately sixty-five miles per hour—five miles above the speed limit—and make it to Paul’s neighborhood in good time. I get out of the car and take my duffel bag despite Paul’s protests and allow him to fetch my roller suitcase as we head inside to my old room. Zonked from the trip and despite the fact that it isn’t even nine o’clock at night, I tell Paul that I want to turn in early that night and ask if we can do brunch the following morning, a Thursday. He accepts and I kiss his cheek before shooing him out, locking the door behind me, and collapsing onto my bed.

. . .

The following morning, I got up around nine-thirty and head immediately into the en suite bathroom and jump into the shower. The hot water feels good on my cramped back and I quite soon feel as if I am returning to myself again. I lower my eyes, and notice that, now that I am three months pregnant, my belly is beginning to get a slight curve to it. You wouldn’t know it if you saw me all the time, but I noticed. Cupping it beneath the running water, I smile a little.

“Hi, Baby,” I whisper.

Stepping out of the shower, I blow-dry and flat-iron my hair before putting on a rather sensible cotton dress, leggings, and flats. I decide on a pearl necklace—my high school graduation present from Mom—and mentally decide on a purse as I dash back into the bathroom to brush my teeth and do my makeup. I make a grab for my pink purse with the gold tassel and head downstairs, seeing Paul sitting in the armchair at the corner of the living room, absolutely silent.

“Paul?” I ask, stepping into the living room. “What is it? Are Sarah and the kids all right? Is it Sarah’s parents? I remember her father has Alzheimer’s…”

He shakes his head. “No. All fine.”

I nod, sitting on the couch diagonally to him. “Well, then, what’s the matter?”

He sighs for a moment, straightening out ever so slightly. “I received a call from the hospital this afternoon…”

“Do they need you to come in?” I ask, hiding my disappointment.

Paul shakes his head. “No.”

“Then what?” I ask.

He raises his eyes to mine. “I know you probably don’t remember—I was a few years older than you and only stumbled across the information randomly when I graduated college, before med school… If I say the name Adrienne Isabelle Shaw, do you know who I am speaking of?” he wants to know.

I shake my head. “Do we have an aunt by that name?”

He sighs. “Viv, Adrienne was your twin sister.”

I feel shaken. “No-no. I just have you, Paul…”

“No. She was switched at birth with another girl who looked similar to her, but the girl she was switched with passed away in the hospital due to low birth weight and fetal alcohol syndrome. However, she wasn’t tested for it initially but when she was, Mom and Dad didn’t think anything of it. Well, they just looked into it and Adrienne is alive and well. Her name now is Meera McCormick, and she lives in Bellevue. She’s in law school now and she’s reached out to us. She wants to meet us, Viv—she wants to meet you.”

I shake my head, feeling as if I will be able to comprehend all of this information. “Meera McCormick?” I say at last, allowing myself to process the name. Raising my eyes to his, I shake my head. “I need some time…by myself…”

He nods, understanding. “Take the spare car,” he says, tossing the set of keys to me, almost as if he sensed I would need some time. “Why don’t you go for a drive or something, I don’t know, far away from here?”

I nod, shifting the keys in my hand. “Thanks.” I turn and leave the room, heading back upstairs and grabbing some more cash just in case, and take a sweatshirt along as well, for Seattle’s and its surrounding cities’ weather have proved unpredictable in the past. I go downstairs and step into the garage, opening the door and driving out onto the path, quickly shutting the door behind me. I pull out of our general housing area and head down to the main road—in “Big Fancy Suburbia”, everyone has a healthy portion of land to go around, so it truly takes a moment to get out of there.

I find myself on The 5-Freeway and head north, having no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing or going to do. I know when I am near the Northgate Mall, but I am not in the mood for shopping or eating lunch by myself. I get off the exit anyhow and go off a side street, going over a bridge where I can see the freeway traffic in both directions. I continue in that direction and soon find the trees are coordinating with the grass of one establishment, which I soon realize is a college, and make a right, continuing down what appears to be some sort of boulevard, until I pull into the parking lot. As it is so late in the year, I assumed that school would be over, but no, the parking lot is plentiful with cars of all kinds.

I manage to find a parking space and step out of the car, crossing the lot and using my credit card to pay for a space before sticking the sticker onto the appropriate window. I then proceed to walk around the campus, not really paying attention to any of the signs and soon I inexplicably find myself close to the theater department. Remembering my high school days of acting, I smirk to myself, crossing to sit in the courtyard as the sun makes a rare appearance, shining down upon me. Looking to the left where the red double doors are, I can see some people exiting them in pairs, or groups of one or three people, and listen to their idle chatter. One girl—of average height, although she is a bit rounded around the edges—walks with a guy who is much taller than she is. There is a glow to her face and I can sense it immediately—this girl is in love with him.

She laughs at everything he has to say, and although he does stare at her with a look that can only be described as either protectiveness or attraction, I have no idea if he feels the same way about her. She waves him off when their conversation is over, sighing a little to herself once he is out of earshot. I watch as she turns around, and ventures back into my direction, and I find myself raising my eyebrows at her. She catches me staring and narrows her eyes ever so slightly, almost as if she is perplexed that a perfect stranger would stare so blatantly at her.

“Can I help you?” she asks guardedly.

I get to my feet and walk a little towards her, turning a bit to be sure that the young man is gone and will not hear us. “He’s a dead ringer for Bradley Cooper, isn’t he?” I remark a bit playfully to her.

She shrugs. “Yeah. I told him that in our first or second week in class.”

I smile at her—we are of the same height, so it is not as if I have to look down on her. “Was that before or after you told him you were in love with him?”

Immediately, the girl reddens. “What?!” she cries, her voice hitching ever so slightly. “No, I mean, that’s crazy! He and I… We’re _friends…_”

“Yet you have playful banter every day in class and you’re not sure if it means something more which means you have the option of telling him and ruining your friendship or not telling him and forced to think of what might have been,” I say, rather astutely. “Is that right?” I want to know.

She sighs. “Yes, that’s right.” She bites her lip, almost as if she is reluctant to say more on the subject. “Well. We _are_ friends. It’s just that, in my experience…”

“You tell guys how you feel and then they either laugh it off and never mention it again, tell everyone about it and you’re made fun of, or they never talk to you again because somehow they’re angry that you would ever have romantic feelings for someone like them. Right?” I want to know.

She nods. “Yes.”

I sigh. “I’m sorry. I just started talking to you without even introducing myself.” I put out my hand in an attempt to be friendly. “Vivienne Shaw.”

“Ella Stern,” she replies, a look of shock coming onto her face. “Wait, wait, wait. Vivienne Shaw?!” she demands.

I nod. “Yes.”

“You were born here, but you left when you were accepted into Rhode Island College,” she says, almost as if reading cue cards.

I take a step away from her. “How the hell could you know that?”

She grits her teeth, a look of sympathy coming to her face. She takes out her phone from her pocket then and types in a website name before hitting the search key. She taps her foot impatiently for a time before showing me the resulting webpage. “I created you,” she says slowly. “Well, it seems as if that’s not entirely true, but…” She shrugs. “As you can see, the first chapter here was posted months ago, so I had no idea that…”

I turn around and immediately am sick into some cheap-looking plants.

“…and you’re pregnant with Brian’s baby. Fabulous.”

I give this girl named Ella a rather pained expression before running out of there. I run passed the double red doors and by the theater department. I run under what appears to be a freeway underpass and into the parking lot, making a dash for my car. I get in and floor it and manage to get out of the parking lot before making a beeline for the highway. I drive and drive until I find the Bellevue exit, quickly managing to Facebook search this girl who is claiming to be my twin, and figure out that she is a student at Bellevue College, at their law school, and that she’s posted that her final class ends at three that day, in exactly thirty minutes, and I quickly GPS the rest of the directions.

I managed to get there in forty-five minutes, swerving a bit around the traffic, and was relieved to see that Meera had stated that she was going to hang out with some friends in the main courtyard. I managed to find a decent parking space and got out of my car, locking it behind me and making a dash for the main courtyard area, after being told by various students, who themselves gave me a bizarre look. Shrugging it off, I ran into the main courtyard and looked around, nearly falling over when I saw it. There was Meera, smack-dab in the center of it all, talking with a group of friends. I felt my mouth go dry; we were identical, and from what I could see, everyone thought so—well, the ones that I asked for directions thought so, at least.

Making my way across the courtyard, as I walked closer to her, many people turned to stare at me and I bit my lip ever so slightly as I tapped her on the shoulder. Turning, Meera let out a gasp and shook her head, shocked. I couldn’t speak; I just stared at her, my eyes just as wide, and did my best to remain friendly, although my mind couldn’t even process the necessary words needed to express my feelings. Many people soon slowed or stopped completely, wanting to hone in on what was really going on.

“Hi,” I managed to get out.

“Hey,” Meera replied.

I looked around then at all the people. “Sure got a lovely turn-out,” I joked.

Meera smiled a bit. “Yeah. Like something that should be televised or something…”

“Dr. Phil or Maury?” I ask.

She laughs. “Dr. Phil. We’re not trashy enough for Maury.”

“This is so crazy,” I say after a moment. “It’s like looking into a mirror…”

“Yeah,” Meera replies. “Do you want to go somewhere and talk?”

I nod. “Do you need a ride?”

“Yes,” she confesses. “I don’t drive…”

I smile a little. “No problem.” I jingle my keys. “Paul wants to meet you.”

“Paul?”

“My…our brother,” I say softly.

She raises her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “So, it’s not just you? I don’t just have an insanely identical twin sister? I’ve got a brother, too?”

I nod again. “Yes. Paul is older and he’s a doctor. Our parents called this morning and told him the news, and then he told me.”

“You live with him?”

I sigh as we turn to walk back towards the parking lot. “It’s complicated. I’m living with him and his wife and their three kids—one more on the way—because our parents hate us…” I trail off, not wanting her to get a negative opinion on our parents right away as the two of us slip into the parking lot.

Her eyebrows knit together at that. “Why?”

I shrug. “Lifestyle choices and differences, I suppose,” I reply, automatically unlocking the car as we drift towards it.

“Not that I would care, but are you gay?” she asks.

I shake my head, laughing at that. “No. Not gay,” I reply, nodding for her to get into the passenger side of the car. “Very okay with me, too, however, but that’s not the issue.” I put the keys into the ignition and don’t turn on the car, biting my lip as I place my hands upon the steering wheel, attempting to level with myself before continuing. “I’m an atheist, and a Democrat, and they’re Catholic and just…intolerant,” I manage to get out, shrugging a little at that. “They don’t even know I’m pregnant,” I say without thinking.

“You’re not married, are you?” Meera asks.

I shake my head. “No. I’m twenty-one, same as you. Too young in my book.”

She nods. “What about the baby? You don’t even look pregnant yet.”

“I’m three months along,” I reply, reaching down to touch the nearly non-existent bump. “I will say that the father is my ex-boyfriend.”

“Does he know?”

I chuckle darkly. “If you’re implying did he use it as an excuse to break up with me, then no, that wasn’t the reason. He broke up with me when another guy kissed me. I didn’t want to kiss him, it just happened—long story,” I say by means of explanation, not wanting to get into the time travel adventures that Stewie, Brian, and I had had. “He started sleeping around afterwards and he broke my heart, never listening to my side of the story, and only when he was willing to do so, I realized that it was too late. That’s why I moved back—just last night, actually. I moved back because I lived in his neighbors’ house—I was their live-in nanny—across the street. It hurt too much to have him so close, so I just left. I only told my bosses’ of my leaving, and that was it. They promised to only tell people that I’d gone, but not where I’d gone…” I shake my head. “You seeing anyone?”

She shrugs. “Not really. Single and ready to mingle.”

I smile at that. “Well, now that you’ve got a twin, there’s a whole world of possibilities before you, Meera.”

My twin laughs a little at that. “I suppose we shall see.”

. . .

Three weeks later, Meera has opted to come and stay at Paul’s house with us so as to get to know her new family a bit better. After one meeting with Mom and Dad, she decided that she didn’t want or need them in her life, actively sticking up for me every chance she got. I was flattered by this, but told her that she shouldn’t cut them out entirely, but to give them some sort of sporting chance. Shrugging it off, Meera agreed to do that at some point, just not at the moment.

I had some pretty bad morning sickness one weekend and encouraged Paul to take the whole family out to dinner so as I could have a quiet evening at home. At the last minute, Meera decided to stay behind, too, so Paul decided to make a night of it and drive the kids out to the cabin on Whidbey Island, about twenty minutes from Langley. He left the two of us with our new credit cards and the box of to-go menus in case we wanted to get creative and he, Sarah, Jackie, Daphne, and Felix all slipped out into the early evening for their first summer vacation trip.

Meera decided to look for a movie to stream on the flat screen in my bedroom while I looked through the to-go menus. It didn’t really help that a lot of them had pictures of food on them, something which Stewie loved, especially now that I was officially starting to show, and this child definitely had opinions about what was okay versus what was not okay for me to eat. It was physically exhausting, but thankfully there were hypo-allergenic sprays that I was able to use in my bathroom so that the smell of vomit never lingered.

As I was going over probably the sixth menu, my phone vibrated. Thinking that it was Meera texting me a movie option, or Sarah informing me that one of the kids had forgotten something important, I rolled my eyes. I picked it up anyhow, and was surprised to see that it was Stewie calling me. Perplexed, I swiped the green phone icon.

“Hello?” I asked into the phone.

“Oh, Vivienne, darling, thank goodness you’re all right!” he said in a rather breezy tone. “I am calling to inform you about a family event that Lois and Peter wish to desperately invite you to.”

“A family event?” I ask, lowering myself onto my bed and touching my belly. “I don’t know, Stewie…”

“Vivienne, please allow me to explain,” he goes on. “My dear aunt Carol and her husband, Mayor West—we none of us call him Adam—have decided to renew their wedding vows in Newport at a luxury hotel on the beach. Turns out Mayor West has been sitting on a gold mine and wants to go all out for the occasion. You’re to be an honored guest of the Griffin family, Vivienne, and have the Martha’s Vineyard Ocean Villa at The Chanler at Cliff Walk, one of Newport’s historic hotels. Everyone will be there. Please say you’ll come, Viv, I can’t abide social events with only Brian for company anymore. Please.”

I sigh. “When is this happening?

“A week,” Stewie replies. “We’re supposed to check in seventy-two hours before the event, so you’ve got four days to get here.”

I quickly pull up Newport, Rhode Island onto my laptop and see that they themselves have a small airport, located a mere ten minutes or so by car from The Chanler. Sighing, I confirm that I will come and Stewie giggles with delight. Rolling my eyes, I ask if I can bring a guest, my sister, and Stewie readily assumes I am referring to Sarah, and I don’t correct him. I tell him I shall arrive promptly as possible on the day of, and he sounds pleased. As soon as I hang up, I make several overnight orders via Amazon and other clothing manufacturers I enjoy so as I will be properly outfitted for the occasion. I do the same with Meera, because whether she likes it or not, she is definitely coming with me.

. . .

To tell the truth, Meera didn’t need to be strong-armed at all into this little—or, rather, very extravagant—charade. We quickly obtain the packages the following afternoon and, after making sure that there are no loose threads and that they are all in their right respective sizes, we proceeded to pack. We made sure our I.D.’s were still valid, and we ordered our first-class tickets promptly, and made sure a limo would take us to and from the airport on both the West and the East Coast.

My travel outfit was a lovely at-the-knee dress which had a triangular-shaped dip into it, showing a bit more thigh than I would have liked, but Meera assured me it was wonderful. It also was outfitted with a lovely wide-brimmed hat with a lovely ribbon around it, as well as heeled shoes and wide-framed sunglasses. Meera also did my makeup, and a shade of dark lipstick completed the ensemble. I was almost tempted to ask her to switch places with me, as I was almost barely showing by this point, but she insisted that I looked beautiful and that Brian would continue to want me back on sight.

The day before we were due to leave, in had my first sonogram to inform me just what I was really pregnant with. I hoped and prayed that it wasn’t some sort of alien-like hybrid, but Meera held my hand and assured me that it would be fine. _You don’t know I fell in love with a dog_, I mentally cursed her rather ruefully as we drove to the hospital. We were seen pretty promptly by the nurses—a perk of having a brother in the business—and the nurse, who had known me for years, was floored when Meera’s identity was revealed to her. She was pleased that I had found my long-lost twin sister, yet the discomfort set in again once the cool goo was put upon my barely-swollen belly.

“Okay, let’s see,” Nurse Flora Martinez said, taking the wand and delicately placing it directly onto my lower abdomen. “You say you’re about sixteen weeks?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Looks about right to me,” she says, nodding. “Just so you know, when it comes to twins, you shouldn’t travel—in a plane—after twenty weeks. But you should be okay for your trip to the East Coast.”

Immediately, I move to sit up, and fail due to Nurse Martinez’s use of the wand. “Wait, what?! Twins?!”

Her brown eyes widen a bit as she turns to me. “You weren’t aware that you were having twins?” she wants to know.

I shake my head. “No, I…”

She nods to herself. “Sometimes one twin will hide behind another. It’s very common that we’ll have someone so shy,” she chuckles lightly, turning back to the sonogram. “Yep, the two of them are now fully visible. Must’ve known it was important picture time today. And you did want to know the sex, or sexes, I suppose, in this case?”

“Yes, yeah,” I manage to get out.

“Okay.” Nurse Martinez maneuvers the wand so as it seems to zoom in on the babies. “It looks to me like that’s a little boy,” she says, pointing to the first one, “and there’s his little sister…”

I feel my eyes filling with tears as nothing but the _whoosh-whoosh_ sound of my twins’ heartbeats fills the room. I shake myself awake then, remembering the appointment exactly twenty-four hours, give or take, before, as the pilot informs me, Meera, and the rest of the passengers that we are beginning our descent into Newport, Rhode Island, to the Newport State Airport. We land without difficulty and soon manage to get our bags off the plane and inside to baggage claim. My limo app informs us that the limo is waiting, so we quickly get to baggage claim and retrieve our things before heading outside. It is early evening and a comfortable seventy-four degrees as we find our limo, yet the air-conditioning is welcome as we slip inside, giving him the address.

We make it there in nine minutes and quickly pay him before getting out and walking into the double-doors of the hotel. It is breathtakingly beautiful, and I almost stumble at the awe of it all as we head to the front desk. We give our names and the red-haired woman—who seriously looks like Little Orphan Annie after she’s grown up—gives us each a card key. We are assisted upstairs by a kindly fellow called Roberto, who seems very interested in getting to know Meera, and the pair continually make eyes at each other as we slip inside our lovely accommodations. I give Roberto a twenty before he slips out of there, and I know that a number will inevitably exchange hands at some point.

We are not due at the ceremony or dinner for another two hours, so Meera insists that I take a nap before showering while she goes off to find Roberto, who is now on his break for some convenient reason. I roll my eyes at that, hoping that nobody will spot her, so I toss a blonde wig at her that we brought, just in case. Meera giggles but takes the wig anyway, while I prepare for a half an hour nap. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m gone. I soon wake up due to my phone alarm and head into the bathroom, taking a wonderful shower and imagining how the family will think when it is revealed that not only do I have a twin sister, but I am expecting twins—with Brian of all people.

As soon as I step out, Meera comes back and reveals that Roberto is a law student as well and that his aunt and uncle are big investors in the hotel, which is how he managed to get this summer gig in the first place. He also has a band, who has been hired to play at the event that evening as an opener. I wonder who the main source of entertainment will be as I quickly manage to get out my new dress. It is a flowy strapless number is a beautiful hunter green, with a silk ribbon to go around my middle. Green strappy heels complete the ensemble, along with an emerald necklace accented with pearls I’d managed to snag at a Seattle antique store two days before.

Meera got out of the shower and put on her mermaid-like scarlet dress, with one long sleeve and sleeveless on the other side. She wore a diamond collar necklace and red heels, putting on some of her red lipstick and offering me some as well, which I took. She did the rest of our makeup—and our hair, as well—before declaring us ready. We were due at the hotel restaurant, The Spiced Pear, which seemed more like a thousand-dollar drink or an expensive jewel or boutique than anything else. We left our room and went to the elevator, clicking the restaurant button and soon found ourselves in a sea of strangers, and I knew full well that I’d be meeting some Pewterschmidts that night.

Stepping into the crowd, I gripped Meera’s arm in a moment of anxiety, when suddenly a familiar voice pulled me in. “Oh, Vivienne!” cried Lois, scampering forward in her skin-tight, knee-length, strapless purple dress, a glass of red wine in her hand. “I’m so glad you could be here for Carol, I…” She turns and looks from Meera to me, and then looks down at her wine. “Well, I thought I was buzzed, but I guess I’m drunk. There’s two of ya!”

I giggle a little. “That’s right, Lois. This is my long-lost twin, Meera. She agreed to come along tonight.”

“You must be Lois,” Meera says. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Lois says as she peers closer then. “Oh, I see the difference. You,” she points to me, “have that birth mark above your lip. Meera doesn’t. Well, at least there’s a way to tell you apart,” she says, pulling the two of us into the crowd. “Everybody, look what I found, or who I found!” she squeals like a teenage girl.

“Lois, what the hell?! You said cloning was impossible!” Peter says, crossing his arms.

She shakes her head. “Peter, this is Vivienne’s twin sister, Meera. Meera, this is my loud-mouthed husband, Peter. These are our children, Meg, Chris, and this is Stewie,” Lois continues as Stewie runs over to me, and lifts up his arms. “Aw, you want your friend Vivienne to hold you…”

I giggle a bit and bend down, picking him up. I watch as he mouths to me, “Terrace, now,” and promptly manage to excuse myself from the Griffins, after Meera assures me that she will be fine.

“Stewie, what’s up?” I ask, letting him sit down on one of the vacant tables.

“I take it you didn’t see Brian in there,” Stewie says.

I shake my head. “No. I haven’t seen him at all. Why? Did he decide not to come?” I ask, dreading that.

“No, he’s here…”

“Well, then where is he?” I ask, as a wedding march begins.

Stewie hops off the table and motions for me to follow. We step back inside together and watch as Lois’s father, Carter, walks Carol down a makeshift aisle in the middle of the fancy restaurant dining room. Mayor West awaits at the end of the room, flanked by Peter, Joe, and Quagmire. Lois and Meg walk ahead of Carol and go to stand at the left side, opposite the groom and Peter and his friends, while Carol moved to join them. Carter all but shoves her in the direction of Mayor West.

“Here. I hope you like weird boobs,” he says to him.

“Daddy, that’s what you said at our first wedding!” Carol whines before Carter crosses to join his wife, Babs, in the crowd.

The minister begins saying the traditional wedding vows as Stewie and I join Meera in the crowd, flushed as Roberto walks away from her before his set, due to begin after the formal ceremony. Stewie taps my knee then and, turning, I force myself to watch the minister or priest or whatever say the binding words to Carol and Adam West. I don’t see Brian, but I force him out of my mind as Carol and Adam are proclaimed Mayor and Mrs. West once again for us, and we all applaud them.

Then Roberto and his band, _Religion Jupiter_, steps out onto the raised platform stage. The whole audience cheers, but there isn’t much dancing through their mandatory three songs, and although they definitely have talent, it is an acquired taste. It is when they announce that Peter Frampton is coming out that my eyes widen. Lois squeals at that and pulls Peter out onto the dance floor, and when Frampton busts out his signature song, _Baby, I Love Your Way_, they begin to immediately slow dance.

Carol and Adam, Joe and Bonnie, Quagmire and his date, and several other couples join them, along with Meg and Joe and Bonnie’s son, Kevin. Stewie takes my hand as Meera and Roberto step out and tries to pull me away, which is when I see it. As the crowd seems to thin around them, Brian leads Jillian out onto the dance floor. A lump rises in my throat at their familiarity, and I force myself not to cry. He pulls her close, and they dance effortlessly until the song ends. Brian then notices me but looks from Meera to me and back again, clearly confused as senseless Jillian drags them towards their table across the room, and I wonder how deep they’ve gotten in my absence. I try to ignore it as our dinner options are given—chicken, steak, fish, or wild boar. I naturally choose the chicken and try not to think about Brian and Jillian.

After the pretty decent chicken, everyone clamors around the stage, demanding that Peter Frampton do another round of _Baby, I Love Your Way_. Desperate, I walk towards Brian then, when Jillian whispers something into his ear. Losing my courage, I run from the room, the tears coming then, as I run out onto the beach, the waves crashing onto the shore, and make my way towards my bedroom, intending to lock myself away.

BRIAN’S POV

I didn’t even want to come to this piece of self-indulgent crap tonight anyway. I’d much rather be at home writing my new novel, about a guy who finds love but loses everything when the girl realizes she is too good for him. I’d even worked out a title all by myself, _The Vivienne Papers_, and was looking forward to getting some good work done. However, Lois insisted that I go to Newport tonight, and even thought she’d sweetened the deal by strong-arming Jillian into tagging along as my date.

Jillian and I would never be anything more than friends, I saw that now. I remembered that after Vivienne left, I got really drunk and almost slept with her, but I couldn’t do it, and she was too stupid to know the difference. I considered burying the hatchet with Lauren Conrad in an attempt to have some kind of intellectual conversation about my ordeal with Vivienne, but once you give a hot chick worms, you can never go back.

I remember the Valentine’s Day that Stewie had called up all my old girlfriends—Seabreeze, Rita, Brooke, Kate, and Ida (who is something in between male and female that I am too much of a dog to even attempt to understand)—to name a few. Jillian said that I had a big Eggo—personally, I only thought she messed up that and the proper word “ego”, due to our little game I liked to call “Breakfast in Bed”. It didn’t last long—the scrambled eggs stank up the room for weeks and the bacon and sausages stained the sheets—but it was fun while it lasted.

I remembered hearing Stewie on the phone a few days before we were due to leave for Newport, and my heart hurt to hear that he was talking to Vivienne. I hadn’t slept with anyone since ending things with her—I hadn’t even fantasized about Lois. Vivienne seemed to cure me of my urge for her. Maybe it was due to the fact that she’d saved herself for the man she was meant to be with, but it warmed my heart that we’d had atheism and liberal politics in common. There was just something about that girl, something you would want to hold onto and never let go. But then she asked if she could bring someone with her to Carol and Adam Wests’ stupid remarriage ceremony. I’d quit listening to the conversation right then and had bought some weed from my dealer to get out of my head. I then waited until I wasn’t high anymore and went across town to my ex, Tracy’s, house, because it was my visitation day for Dylan, who I had to do something with once a month. We met at a local coffee shop and I ordered strong black coffee while he ordered one of those frozen blended things that I could never pronounce the name of.

“Dad, something’s on your mind.” Dylan had a rare intelligence that certainly hadn’t come from my side of the family. Although my being down in the dumps wasn’t that much of a secret, really.

“Dyl, it’s fine,” I say, shaking my head and taking another swig of coffee. “You don’t need to worry about it, really. You’ve got your T.V. show to think about.”

“Screw it, it’s on hiatus for summer anyway. We don’t start shooting the next season for another two weeks. What’s going on, Dad?”

“You got renewed?” I say, hoping to change the subject. “That’s really great. You never can tell with T.V. shows nowadays.”

“Yes, we got renewed, back in January,” Dylan replies a little heatedly. “We’re doing a crossover episode with _Girl Meets World_ for the mid-season finale this season, but that’s not the point. Tell me, Dad, please, I’ll be fifteen in a few months. What’s going on?”

“Things ended with Vivienne, sport,” I confess. “Badly.”

Dylan raises his eyebrows. “Wow.”

“What?”

“You really love her, don’t you, Dad?”

I sigh a little. “Dyl, sometimes that’s not enough. Sometimes you make a big mistake that no matter how many times you apologize, it doesn’t matter to the other person. Three strikes, you’re out. Life really does work that way sometimes.”

“Who made the mistake?”

I give him a sad smile. “I did. I mistook something that happened and twisted it around to make it look like she was the one at fault when in fact it was the other party…and me. You know me, Dylan—I don’t do serious relationships. There was your mother, Jillian, and Rita, who I almost married.”

“And Brooke, the girl from the T.V. show…”

“It would never have worked with Brooke,” I say. “She had weird-tasting… Never mind,” I say, shaking my head, not wanting to involve him in this.

“Is she coming to the event in a few days?”

“Yes,” I reply. “I’m sorry you have that class trip that’s semi-mandatory,” I say. “I would’ve liked to show my famous son off.”

Dylan sighs. “Maybe this would be a good opportunity for you.”

“Yeah? How?”

He shrugs. “Tell Vivienne how you’re feeling.”

I sigh. “Lois got Jillian to go with me…”

He crosses his arms. “Cop out.”

I nod. “Exactly. I don’t know if I can do it anymore, buddy.”

“Try, Dad. Please. She sounds really nice.”

I sigh. “All right. I’ll try.”

For the next few days, I tried to get out of taking Jillian to Carol and Adam’s wedding crap, but it was just no use. Jillian loved weddings, and she’d gotten a new, floor-length dress for the occasion. Just to make her feel better, I let her remain my date, although it was with mixed feelings. I didn’t see Vivienne when we arrived, but I let it go, hoping to get an opportunity to be alone with her later. Jillian forced me to dance twice that evening to Peter and Lois’ song by Peter Frampton, _Baby, I Love Your Way_, and I wanted more than anything to get out of there.

I thought I’d had too much to drink when I saw two Vivienne’s near the dance floor, but when I saw the one by Stewie, I realized that she was the real one and the other one had to be a lookalike. Just as I moved to tell Jillian that I needed to leave her side and to be with Vivienne, she bent down and whispered to me.

She said, “I know what’s wrong, Brian. You don’t love me anymore, and that’s okay. You made me realize that I can finally move on from my husband. I’ve been offered a photography job in Rome, and I’m taking it. I’ve been given the opportunity to photograph the vacation,” she said proudly.

_Vatican_, I thought to myself, but congratulated her anyhow. Turning, I saw Vivienne taking in the scene, before fleeing it and sobbing.

I knew what I had to do.

I wasn’t going to be a scared little dog anymore.

I loved her, and it was now or never.

VIVIENNE’S POV

I ran back in the direction of my hotel room, and tripped and fell in the sand. _Damn these heels_, I thought, kicking them off, tempted to throw them into the waves. Ignoring the urge, I walked back towards my room at a slower pace, carrying my heels now. I saw the light go on in my bedroom as I walked along, and was shocked to see Meera and Brian running around in there, calling my name.

“I’m here!” I called, waving, and made my way up to the beach entrance as Meera opened the door before me.

“You had us worried!” Meera scolded. “I had to hastily introduce myself to Brian so that I could help look for you! Left poor Roberto standing by himself…”

“You’d better get back to him, quick,” Brian told her. “Meg can get very possessive around boys she doesn’t know.”

“Thanks!” Meera called over her shoulder, heading back to the restaurant.

Brian turned back to me. “Look, about Jillian…”

“Forget it.” I toss my shoes onto the ground. “Doesn’t matter.” I flop onto the bed and turn away from him. “You can go now.”

“Goddammit, Vivienne,” Brian says, reaching out and hauling me to my feet. “I can’t take it anymore! These last couple of months have been an absolute hell! I love you, and I am so sorry for not being able to communicate it to you in a proper manner!”

I feel my knees beginning to grow weak, but I won’t allow myself to fall into his arms. “Brian, we can’t…”

“Why not? Why not?!” he demands, pulling me down so as I am eye-level to him. “Don’t you love me, Vivienne?”

I look away from him. “Please…”

“Viv!” he cries, pulling me back to look at him.

I sigh. “Of course, Brian. Of course I love you.”

“Don’t you want to be together?”

“Yes,” I whisper, tears clouding my vision as I reach out to caress his face. “More than anything, Brian, I… I want you back. I _need_ you back. More than I’ve ever wanted or needed anything before…”

He immediately closes the distance between us and kisses me. It is almost as if no time has gone by, and we are enveloped in each other’s arms for what seems to be an eternity. I feel I cannot let him go, but I do briefly to lock the door and notice that Meera has left her key card here. _My twin sister knows me too well_, I think to myself as I quickly undress as Brian locks the door to the beach and closes the curtains.

I hop up onto the bed as Brian quickly joins me, where we make passionate love all though the night. We whisper endearments as dawn breaks, and soon fall asleep in each other’s arms. I never want to move again.

This love is real.

It is then that I realize that I will need to tell Brian that in five months’ time, we will have some very important company. “I’ll tell him later,” I tell myself. 


	8. I Only Want to Share It With You

I wake up that next morning and almost can’t believe my good fortune—not only have a wonderful Donna and Cleveland given me my job back, but the garage apartment is mine once again. And best of all, Brian is curled up next to me. Gleeful, I am more than pleased because I’ve planned a romantic weekend for the pair of us, where I plan to tell him at last that I am pregnant. Getting up, I give him a kiss and head to the bathroom to take a shower, careful to lock the door behind me and not be in there for more than a few minutes, so as not to let on that something is going on with me.

When I finally come up, Brian and I switch places and by the time he is out, I am all dressed and prepared to go to the Griffin house. Stewie is waiting for us in the living room, upon Meera’s lap. Beside them sits Roberto, and the three of them are watching T.V. “Hello, you two,” Stewie says.

“Took you long enough,” Meera says, raising an eyebrow. She continues to stare at me, and I quickly shake my head before she quickly turns to look at something that Roberto is doing on his phone. “Everything okay?” she asks.

He chuckles. “Yeah. Just checking on the status of your application.”

Meera laughs. “I should’ve never given them both our contact information. I may be staying in Quahog, Bert, but that doesn’t automatically mean I’m staying forever. I only just got my Associate’s Degree. Who knows if I’ll even meet the qualifications of any of the decent law universities around here?”

Roberto makes a face at her as Brian and I climb into the chair by the window. Tapping my fingers impatiently, Stewie soon hops off Meera’s lap and rests in my lap, causing Brian to roll his eyes. I playfully twitch Brian’s ear so as he’ll calm down, knowing that I need him somewhat happy with me, given the bombshell I need to drop on him very soon. As Roberto continues to refresh and refresh his mobile page, Stewie proceeds to pull upon my sleeve until I finally look down at him.

“Yes?” I ask.

“My diaper needs changing,” he informs me.

I roll my eyes. “Stewie, you know as well as I do that Meera is your nanny now. I can’t go taking over for her…”

“Yes, you can,” Meera states, without looking at me. “I looked after Rallo last week while you and Brian absolutely had to go to Martha’s Vineyard for that random writer’s conference or whatever. Change his diaper.”

“I’ll do it, if you…” Brian tries.

“No. I want Vivienne,” Stewie declares, taking me by the hand and pulling me upstairs and into his bedroom. “Lois and the Fat Man took Meg and Chris on Grandma and Grandpa’s yacht off Nantucket for the weekend, so I guess they decided it would be the opportune time to see if your sister was any good at her job.”

I laugh at that as we enter his room properly. “You know as well as I do that I only just met her a month ago,” I reply.

Stewie climbs up onto his changing table, lying back and unsnapping his overall snaps, lifting his butt into the air, and it is then that I get a good whiff of what he’s packing. “Not going to throw up again, are you?” he asks.

I flush red, throwing away the soiled diaper. “I have no idea what you mean,” I reply, doing my best to remain nonchalant.

He rolls his eyes as I take out a wet wipe and proceed to get any offending matter off of his delicate skin. “Come off it, Vivienne. You refused to go to Lupercalia, to the fifth century A.D. with Brian and me after we got back from Newport. I don’t understand it—it’s planes that pregnant women shouldn’t fly in. My time machine is perfectly harmless to women in your condition.”

I do my best to ignore his truth-filled words as I proceed to put baby powder onto him. “I don’t think we should be talking about this…”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’m too young!” Stewie says as I make a grab for a clean diaper and put it properly onto him before he pulls his overalls back on. “I know you’re pregnant with Brian’s baby, Vivienne! Admit it!” he orders as I rub sweet-smelling hand sanitizer onto both my hands.

I sigh. “Stewie, I’m not pregnant with Brian’s baby…”

Stewie takes a good look at my midriff and nods to himself. “Right. Far too small to be just one child anyway. Probably twins…”

I shake my head, turning away from him. “Seriously, I need to get out of my head…”

“Done.” Stewie grabs my hand and crosses the room, typing into the identification pad so as he can access his time machine. He promptly pulls me inside and presses a few more random buttons before the bright light surrounds us and we are soon standing in what Stewie claims to be Dublin, Ireland in the 1880’s.

“Well, I wouldn’t have chosen this…dress, or whatever this pathetic excuse for clothing really is,” I say, shaking my head.

Stewie shrugs. “Well, you’re wearing it.”

I roll my eyes. “How did you know?” I ask him softly as we walk along, and wait for him to turn and look at me. “About…?” I ask, waving my hands in the general vicinity of my belly, not wanting the whole world to know about it, despite the fact that there is a very slim possibility that we know anyone here at all.

Stewie shrugs. “Your attitude. You’re being extra nice to Brian. It’s plain to see that there are only a few reasons why you’re doing that.”

“I’m always nice to Brian!” I cry.

He chuckles as we walk through the town, reaching up and managing to take my hand. “I know you know what I’m talking about. I deduced that there could only be a few causes to your friendly behavior.”

“Yeah?” I ask as we pass a haberdashery. “Like what?”

Stewie regards the rather impressive window display for a moment—it is a lovely black silk fedora number that I can see he is considering. He brushes it off as we continue walking down the sidewalk. “I figured it could be drugs, but Brian is all over those, so I immediately assumed heroin,” he goes on.

“I would never!” I cry out. “My uncle took his own life because of the drug! Well, that and being broke, but still…”

“Okay, okay, it was just a theory,” Stewie defends himself. “Another theory was that you had decided to end things with him…”

“Again?!” I cry. “If anything, he’s going to end things once he finds out about…all this,” I say, for the word “babies” or the phrase “the twins” just doesn’t seem appropriate right now. “I mean, please, he had Dylan and he barely sees him as it is. And then there were those puppy hybrids you guys had together and god knows how well that eventually turned out. I mean, you gave them to a pet store for Christ’s sake!”

“It was a no-kill shelter,” Stewie says, rather defensively.

“Why the hell are you defending yourself?!” I demand. “You and Brian both admitted that you weren’t attached to them at all!”

“Do you want me to leave you here in potentially impoverished, disease-infested Dublin or not?” he asks levelly.

“Not,” I reply. “I don’t think my sensitiveness at this time could take it. I’m a pregnant wench, after all…”

“Wench?” Stewie asks, laughing a little. “Good one.”

“How’s Meera at being your nanny?” I ask.

He sighs. “She’ll never replace you, of course, but it’s actually working out just fine. Roberto is over all the time, but the family likes him, so that helps. He’s desperate for her to get into Harvard or Yale, so that she’ll have an excuse to stay here with him, but of course you were aware of that.”

“I was, yes. I know I’ve only been aware of her existence—and being on excellent terms with her, as well as living together—but it’s really nice to have an exact copy of myself there for me and everything that entails…” I bite my lip. “Maybe she and I could switch places for the upcoming weekend. I could stay home with you and Meera and Brian could go on the vacation…”

“No.” Stewie stops walking, fixing me with a look. “That’s a terrible idea, and you know it. I mean, what happens if Brian finds out and by some weird coincidence, discovers how much better he likes Meera than you?”

“You don’t think he would do that, do you?” I ask.

Stewie shrugs. “I have no idea. I mean, you did tell me that Meera was for Bernie Sanders, didn’t you?”

I lower my eyes. “Yeah…”

“Well, everyone’s reporting that he’s going to fold eventually. I mean, after the incumbent president and vice president support your enemy, it’s only a matter of time.”

“You’re right,” I tell him as we pass by a church with beautiful architecture. A priest bids farewell to his parishioners, and some of them speak briefly with him as they all proceed out onto the street. “Wait…” I say, gripping onto Stewie’s hand as the priest heads back into the church after the final parishioner leaves. I pull Stewie around the flock of worshipers and manage to slip, unseen, to the back of the church, and open the door, spotting the priest as he takes the hand of an altar boy to the back.

“Oh, dear,” Stewie says.

“Oh, dear, is right,” I say, pulling him after me as we follow them. Peeking around the corner, I am sick when I see what the priest is doing. Motioning to the small boy in front of him, the priest points below his waist and the boy—who can’t be more than ten years old—looks up in horror at what the priest is asking him to do.

“Viv, let’s go!” Stewie hisses.

“You’re only an orphan, Alastair,” the priest chuckles. “Who in their right mind would ever believe such lies from your lips?”

“Lying is a sin, Father,” Alastair replies softly, lowering his eyes to the priests’ member in front of him, looking utterly sick.

“That’s right, my son.” The priest touches Alastair’s hair in a moment of affection. “I know some priests do this as a moment of unkindness, but you understand, Alistair? I do care for you, and this is how any man in their right man teaches a boy how to be a man. I know you understand, my boy.”

“I understand, Father,” Alistair replies shakily.

Stewie grips my hand. “Vivienne, please,” he begs.

“No.” I yank myself away from him as poor Alastair leans in closer and closer to do the priests’ bidding. “You sick son of a bitch,” I say, advancing into the room. “How dare you do such a thing to an innocent child?!”

The priest immediately re-buttons his robes. “Ma’am, I do apologize. What you were seeing was…”

“What I was seeing was the most disgusting epidemic,” I say, glaring at him. “Thank goodness I don’t believe in god. Because I get to do this!” I say, lifting up my hand and slapping the priest across the face.

“Dear lady, you don’t understand…” The priest begs, clutching his cheek.

“I understand plenty,” I reply through my teeth. “I understand that you were using this poor boy for sexual gratification. Only your god knows just how many innocent children’s lives you and your fellow priests and bishops have ruined. What you do is reprehensible,” I say, striking him once again so as he falls to his knees, gripping his rosary.

“God forgives you,” he says, clutching his cheeks and rosary at once. “God loves you… God shall forgive and love…”

“I don’t want to worship anything you do, you pervert,” I hiss at him, before turning to a panic-stricken Alistair. “Don’t worry,” I say, kneeling before him. “I know you’re scared, but don’t worry. I’m here to help you.”

Alistair looks me up and down before permitting himself to step forward. “What have you done to the Father?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes in the priests’ direction. “What should have been done to him and men like him a long time ago. You’re safe now.” I put out my hand. “Come. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

He bites his lip, considering, but ultimately takes my hand and comes along. “Who is that, please?” he asks, looking at Stewie. “Your son?”

Stewie laughs at that. “No. I’m her…charge. She is my cousin.”

“Oh,” Alistair says brightly. He quickly takes off his alter boy uniform, revealing rather pitiful shorts, a sweater, long socks, and shoes in desperate need of repair. “I’m all ready to go, then,” he says.

“Very good, dear,” I say, giving a final glare to the priest—who is still pathetically praying for my own forgiveness—as we get out of there. “Was what the priest said true, Alistair?” I ask of him then. “Do you have no family?”

He shakes his head. “No, no family. Although you could just as well walk me to the workhouse or to the orphanage, that would be all right as well.”

“Ooh, an orphanage,” Stewie chimes in, all but yanking us both down the sidewalk, not having any concern for how fast we can travel ourselves.

“Just around the corner here,” Alistair reports, and, as we turn the corner, we are greeted to a proper hell hole. “Don’t worry. I sleep here a few times a week when Father Michael doesn’t expect me with him…”

Immediately, I kneel before him. “Alistair, do you mean to tell me that Father Michael has done what we walked in on more than once?”

He reddens to his ears, lowering his eyes. “Yes.”

I shudder inwardly, feeling ill, yet I know I must ask the next question. “You don’t have to tell me, Alistair, but… How old were you the first time Father Michael…?”

He sighs. “Four or five,” he admits, trembling a little.

I throw my arms around him then and Alistair, shocked, pulls away. “I’m sorry,” I say, all but forcing myself to step back a little. “I’m so sorry, Alistair. I merely wished to bring you some sort of love and comfort…”

His brows knit together at that.

I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m sorry. Those must be some of the words that Father Michael uses on you. I meant the kind of love and comfort that a mother or another trusted and loving adult would give to their child…”

Alistair immediately brightens at that. “Will you be my mother?” he asks.

I smile at him, cupping his cheek. “You don’t even know my name.”

He nods. “Of course. What’s your name?”

“Vivienne Shaw,” I reply.

“Vivienne, then,” he says, slipping his hand in mine. “Will you be my mother?”

I smile, kissing his cheek. “Well, we’ll just have to see.”

“Oh, hell no!” Stewie says, tapping his foot. “You can’t bring a damn pet back with you to the present, Vivienne!”

I narrow my eyes at Stewie. “You know as well as I do that Alastair obviously has no one and he needs me. Stewie, please…”

He sighs. “Fine. But who’s going to watch him while you’re having your weekend away with Brian?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I guess I’ll have to cancel it. Alistair needs us.”

Stewie rolls his eyes but drags us into the bushes and throws the return pad onto the forest-like ground. “Alistair, can you understand me?”

He nods. “Yes. I’m not a pet.”

Stewie raises his eyebrows at that and motions for us to join him on the return pad. The bright light flashes and soon we are transported back into Stewie’s bedroom. We allow Alistair to walk around the space, eyes wide as he ascertains where we really are. He looks out the window, watching some cars going by, before looking down at himself. It is then that I am in for the shock of my life.

“You didn’t tell me the time machine worked on _everyone_!” I cry out.

Stewie shrugs. “I didn’t know…”

Alistair is dressed in blue jeans, a striped short-sleeved T-shirt, a typical sweater, and non-descript sneakers. He looks at himself in Stewie’s mirror, raising his eyebrows. “Wow…” He then covers his mouth. “What…?!”

I immediately turn to Stewie then. “What the hell?!” I hiss.

Stewie’s eyes are as wide as mine. “I programmed a language function in addition to the wardrobe function so as anyone who returned to Quahog would have a distinct American accent,” he replies.

“Yet you still have a British one,” I point out.

He shrugs. “I manipulated it never to affect my voice.”

I bite my lip and turn to Alistair, coming up behind him. “I suppose I should tell you that we aren’t in Dublin anymore…or in 188…”

“Eight,” Stewie whispers from behind me.

“1888,” I say quickly.

Alastair gives me a panicked glance. “Then where are we?!” he cries.

“Quahog, Rhode Island,” Stewie replies, stepping towards the two of us. “The year is 2016, and the month is June.”

“Then how am I not dead?” he whispers.

“You time traveled with us, Alistair,” Stewie explains patiently. “Since Vivienne has such a kind heart, she insisted you come back here with us.”

I put out my hand. “Don’t worry.”

He takes it. “I’ll try not to.”

“Would you like a new name?” I ask. “To assist you in fitting in just a bit more with the harsh modern-day society?”

He nods. “All right, then,” he replies. “Since you’re my mother-like figure, perhaps you could rename me, Vivienne.”

I smile. “Well then, from now on you’ll be known as Alan Hunter Shaw,” I say. “Alan sounds like a slightly-more-modern version of your name anyhow.”

“I’ll draw up the fake birth certificate,” Stewie says gleefully then, running across the room and getting onto his laptop.

“But I like Hunter,” Alastair says. “Can’t I be that instead?”

I smile. “Your first name will be Alan, but we’ll call you Hunter. Lots of people go by their middle names, anyhow.” I ruffle his hair ever so slightly. “Well, at least your hair looks as modern as it possibly can be…”

“Vivienne!” calls Brian from downstairs, his toenails clicking as they climb up.

“Oh, dammit,” Stewie whispers, continuing to type information onto the laptop.

Brian enters the room. “Hey, you’ve been up here an awfully long time, and… Oh. Hello,” he says kindly to Hunter. “Ha-ha. Did you and Stewie go into the future to see what our kids would look like?”

I shake my head. “No. But this _is_ my son, technically speaking…”

“You mean it?!” Hunter cries.

I smile. “Yes. I mean it.”

“Lady with a kid,” Brian says, smirking a little and clutching his chin in an effort to appear philosophical. “I can roll with this.”

“Kids are such wonderful things!” Stewie says far too loudly. “Do you like surprises, Brian? I know you must on some level. Because Vivienne has gone one hell of a…”

“Yeah!” I say quickly. “My surprise is that Stewie and I went to Ireland and found Hunter with this priest…”

“Oh,” Brian says, and then, “Oh!” as he fully understands what we are talking about. “Oh, sport, I’m really sorry about that…”

I put an arm around Hunter. “Tell Brian your name,” I tell him.

“Hunter,” he replies.

“_Alan_ Hunter Shaw,” I correct him, tweaking his ear slightly. “But we’ve agreed that he’s going to go by Hunter.”

“Why didn’t you call him Alan Hunter Griffin?”

I shrug. “Because we’re not married, Brian. I’m not ready to be married.”

Brian nods quickly. “Right, right, right,” he says. “Of course. I mean, me either! Marriage, yuck!” he says.

I make a small sound of hurt. “I didn’t mean that I never wanted to get married,” I say rather defensively. “I mean that I’m just not ready.”

“I know what you meant. I was just…”

“Making a joke about a very serious subject.” I sigh. “This was stupid, coming back here. I think that I just need to…leave.” I put an arm around Hunter and walk out of Stewie’s room, and down the stairs into the living room. I bypass and ignore Meera and Roberto, who are in mid-cheer at being mutually accepted into Yale. I ignore their request for information about Hunter, and continue walking until we get across the street and into the garage apartment, where I quickly shut the door behind us.

“Your house?” Hunter asks.

I nod. “Yes.” I move a few things in the living room around and pull out the couch. “This will be your bed for now. Until we straighten things out. Is it comfortable?”

Hunter climbs onto it and bounces slightly. “Great. Thanks.”

I nod, smiling a little. “I’ll overnight order you some clothes. We’ll do some shopping together on my laptop and find out what you like and stuff. Thankfully summer vacation is in about a week so it wouldn’t make sense for you to start school right now. When is your birthday?” I ask.

“The first week of September,” he replies.

I nod. “Well, they’ll probably test you to see where you are in school. Can you read and write, Hunter?”

He nods. “Yes. In English and Latin.”

I smile. “Only a handful of high schools teach Latin. English is fine for now.” I get my laptop and sit down beside him on the bed. I login and access Amazon fairly quickly, clicking on the various sections until I get to the “good stuff”. Hunter has good taste and quickly we have a whole summer and some fall wardrobe things for him, along with practical things like a winter coat and rain and snow boots.

“I like green,” Hunter tells me.

I put an arm around him and squeeze his shoulders. “I do, too.”

There is a knock at my door then and I kiss Hunter’s forehead. I hand him the remote and quickly change the channel to Cartoon Network, where they’re having a re-run marathon of _Ed, Edd, n Eddy_, which I know he will enjoy. I also show him the buttons to press if he wants to watch Nickelodeon, and slip towards the door. “I’ll be right back,” I call over my shoulder as I open the door and step downstairs. “What?” I ask Brian.

He sighs. “I think I understand what’s going on.”

I cross my arms. “I doubt it.”

“Vivienne, please don’t push me away. Don’t send me away. I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

I sigh. “I thought I did. But that joke about marriage? That really hurt me, Brian. I don’t know why you would joke about that… And in front of Hunter.”

“He looks like a great kid. That’s one of the reasons why I fell for you, Vivienne. You’ve got such a good heart.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Griffin.”

“Okay, Shaw, okay,” Brian says, throwing up his hands.

I sigh. “What did Meera, Stewie, or Roberto tell you?”

“Nothing.” He steps forward. “Come on. You tell me. They told me to ask you when I demanded to know why you were acting so weird.”

“Acting weird?!” I cry. “Excuse me?!”

“See?! There you go again,” Brian says.

I sigh, running my hands through my hair. I know that I have to tell him—it wouldn’t be fair to me to raise the twins on my own, nor would it be fair to Brian to never know about their existence in the first place. “You’re right, I’m sorry…”

“Just tell me.” He takes my hand. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together.”

“So many guys would say the same thing… But only if you knew the truth…” I shake my head at him. “I just have this gut feeling that you’d… I don’t know, blow a gasket or something…”

He smiles. “I promise I won’t.”

“Do you know something?” I ask him then, straight-out. “Come on. Don’t make me do this, I mean, please. You _know_.”

He laughs a little. “I know that I love you. Come on. _You _tell _me_.”

“No!” I cry out, giggling. “Come, on…”

Brian laughs a little. “Tell Hunter you’re coming back across the street. It’ll only be for a few minutes. Come on.”

I roll my eyes, quickly going upstairs. I get a quick snack plate of pretzels and cheese for Hunter, as well as some water before telling him I’ll only be a few minutes. Dashing after Brian, I run across the street with him, and go around to the back of the house. I am shocked when I see that the whole backyard section is completely carpeted with pink rose petals, and, when he pulls a string, several pounds of them fall all around us. He then snaps his fingers, and Stewie, hanging out the window, plays _Mr. Brightside_ by The Killers. Despite the fact that the lead singer is a member of the Latter Day Saints church—who certainly have questionable beliefs as a whole—I am lost in the song.

“We never did get to have our dance,” Brian says, referring to Newport.

Smiling at him, I am shocked when he runs off, only to return to stilts strapped to his feet, and manages to walk up to me. “Been practicing,” he says, taking my hands.

Shaking my head at him, we proceed to dance around, as Stewie begins pulling strings after string around us, and more and more rose petals fall around us. I am nearly blinded by all the pink surrounding us, but I don’t care. The flashes of color keep me alive and happy, and I find I am going to be as forthcoming to Brian as possible. I am laughing as the beat continues to pump in my ears, and I never want the song to end.

“Come outta your cage!” Brian chants to me.

“It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss, it was only a kiss!” I shout back, leaning forward, touching Brian’s chest. “Too bad you can’t take off my… Well, I’m not really wearing a dress right now,” I say.

“Too bad,” Brian pouts.

“Don’t choke on my alibi,” I tell him.

“Destiny is calling me,” he replies.

“Open up my eager eyes…”

“’Cause I’m Mr. Brightside!” Brian says back.

Stewie plays the song again, and Brian and I proceed to dance faster and faster and faster, kicking up the rose petals.

“I’m never letting you go,” he tells me.

“Good,” I reply, leaning in and kissing him. “I’d be heartbroken if you did…”

Just as the song continues to end, Brian jumps out of the stilts and we land with a flop down into the sea of flower petals. We are laughing so hard that we barely hear Stewie closing his window above us as Meera calls that it is time for his nap. I turn to Brian then, who is smiling at me.

“Just so you know, I’m going to propose to you,” he vows then.

I sigh. _It’s now or never_… “Brian… There’s something I have to tell you…”

“Yeah?” he asks.

I sigh. “I know I should have said something before I ran off but I was just so hurt and so angry… And I should have told you in Newport, but I didn’t…”

He takes my hand. “Just tell me.”

My eyes fill with tears as I turn to face him. “I’m pregnant, and it’s yours… They’re yours,” I say at last.

His eyes widen. “They’re mine?”

“Twins,” I reply. “A boy and a girl.”

He sighs, mulling it over in his mind. “You’re right, you should have told me,” he replies at last, turning back to me, “but I understand why you didn’t. You were hurt and angry and you needed some space before coming back to face me.”

I nod. “That’s right.”

He smiles a little. “So… Quahog or Seattle?”

“Hmmm,” I say, laughing a little, but just before I can answer properly, my phone buzzes in my pocket. “Excuse me,” I say when I see that Paul is calling me. “Paul?” I ask, confused as to why he’s calling.

“Viv. Hi…”

“Paul? What’s wrong? You don’t sound like you…”

He sighs. “There’s been an accident…”

Immediately, I sit up. “What?! What happened?!”

“Someone put something into Sarah’s dinner,” Paul says, slowly coming undone. “She lost the baby, Viv. Sarah’s had a miscarriage… Someone killed our baby…!”

“Is she going to be okay?!” I whisper, tears coming to my eyes.

“It’s touch and go,” Paul confesses then. “Before she went into surgery, she asked for you and Meera. Can you come home?”

I turn to Brian, who nods quickly. “All right,” I say, thinking we will need five tickets to go around, and we will have to do so quickly, as I am five months along already. “All right. I guess we’ll take a red eye to Seattle…”

“We don’t know who did it,” Paul says softly. “The police are looking into it…”

“Don’t dwell on it,” I say, feeling like a bitch for saying so. _What the hell is wrong with you, Viv_?! I demand to myself then. _You obviously have a problem for suggesting such a stupid thing_! _I mean, please, he’s not going to spend every waking moment on— Oh, who am I kidding_?! _Of course he is_! “I mean…um…”

“It’s okay, Viv.”

I sigh. “We’ll book the tickets and be there as soon as possible, Paul.”

“Thank you,” he says, and I hang up.

Brian stares at me, imploring me for answers.

I sigh. “Someone’s killed my nephew,” I say resolutely, “and I’ve gotta find out who.”


	9. Cloak & Dagger

Brian and I immediately hop on a plane and head directly to Seattle, because he senses as much as I do that my family really needs me right now. The five-and-a-half-hour flight was quickly overshadowed by the constant cloud cover, and the fact that our pilot, none other than Quagmire himself, had to express his negativity for Brian over the loudspeaker periodically throughout our flight. It was very draining and annoying to listen to, and I was seriously considering going all Ernie the Giant Chicken on his ass.

Finally, I had had enough of his attitude. There was a flight attendant, Candy, who seemed to be a dead ringer for Jillian, and I managed to pull her aside. I’d done my research, and this poor girl got less than twenty dollars an hour to be potentially sexually harassed by our pilot, and be polite to complete strangers. Feeling at the end of my rope, I slipped a fifty-dollar bill into her pocket on the condition that she switch clothes with me, to which she agreed, and I’d thanked god that I’d worn something somewhat cute on that terribly overcast afternoon.

When it was time to bring Quagmire his lunch, the other flight attendant, a slightly sharper woman called Debbie Hyman who had showed me the ropes, ran through the plan with me again, a smile on her purple lips. Tossing her long black hair over her shoulder, she put her hands on her voluptuous hips and nodded to herself. She handed over his lunch tray, as he was doing a solo flight that afternoon, and told me to bring it to him, and then, if I was lucky, to verbally threaten him...or something to that affect.

“You seem like a good person,” she said sweetly. “God knows that I’m not really supposed to be here either...”

“No?” I ask, perplexed.

She giggles a bit and pulls up her pant leg, revealing six-inch heels. “I’m still in high school, to be honest. I’m just here to get away from this guy I was dating...”

“Who?”

“His name is Steve Smith,” she replies. “Lives in Langley Falls, Virginia with his parents and older sister... And this guy named Roger, who looks a lot like this Anne Rice fan who tried to molest me at this buffet once...”

I feel my eyebrows coming together at that. “Oh, my. That’s quite a coincidence, Debbie, if I’ve ever heard one...”

She smiles. “Thanks. If I’m being honest, my cousin got me this gig. She needed a break from all the flying drama. Plus, we look a lot alike, so...”

I return her smile. “Well, families should stick together.”

“And so should friends,” she replies, turning me around and pushing me towards the captain’s quarters. “Go on.”

I smirk at little, and make my way towards the door, which automatically opens in front of me and I see the back of Quagmire’s smackable head. Gritting my teeth, I step forward, gripping tightly to the tray, lest I suddenly feel compelled to let go of it and dump the contents of it onto his head, going all Jimmy Kimmel on his ass. I close the last of the distance between us and stand directly to his right.

“Hello, Quagmire,” I say, not liking at all that this uniform is so different that Debbie’s. It was some sort of mini dress which ended just above the knee, with knee-high boots, and it zipped up the front, from top to bottom, except for the bit where it had a circular cut into it, shoving my breasts center stage so that, to any onlooker, I found that I looked like a rather unfortunate schoolgirl attempting to dress up like a dominatrix, which, quite frankly, made me sick.

He barely looks at me. “Yeah, hi, Candy. Sorry we can’t do the giggity today, but I’m totally exhausted from that orgy I had last night with half a dozen hot Asian chicks. You can just leave my lunch on the little table.”

“Quagmire.”

“What?!” he says in exasperation. “Candy, we’ve been over this. That baby can’t possibly be mine, because you were still engaged to Jeremy at the time...” He trails off as he slowly turns his head towards mine, and nearly swerves the plane when he realizes that he is actually speaking to me, and that now I’ve got dirt on him.

Slowly, I place the tray upon the table, bending over a little more than necessary to give him an eyeful. “Hello, Quagmire.”

“H-hello,” he stammers, his eyes going from the cloud-filled sky ahead of us, then back to me again. “W-what are you doing here? I thought Brian was going on another one of those god-awful book tours...”

“No. He did bring his laptop, though. We’re actually going to see my family.”

“Never had the opportunity to introduce any girls to my family. Though I’ve been married twice already...”

“To Joan and Charmisse,” I say. “I’ve heard the story from Peter and Lois. They found both situations...interesting, to say the least. One some crazy bitch, the other a hooker. And last night, an orgy with half a dozen Asian chicks, and now, apparently, a baby on the way.” I put out my lower lip. “Poor, poor Quagmire.”

“You’d better stop that...” He tries weakly.

“What’ll you do to me?” I hiss at him through my teeth. “I had an older brother who was varsity wrestling and the football quarterback in high school before he became a doctor. He and I are so close—do you honestly think he wouldn’t teach me everything he knows? I know every trick in the book, Quagmire. You try anything, and let’s just say, you’d never be able to fly again. I’m so good, I can make it look like an accident. You’ll never know what hit you, and I’ll get a lawsuit on your ass, and the airline’s ass for sexual harassment. Then I’ll be filthy rich and you’ll be tied with Joe for lowest man on the totem pole in your group. Sure Cleveland is plenty annoying—to you, at least—but everyone knows how much you hate Joe with a passion. You used the world ‘ending’ to sleep with Bonnie for god’s sake. You’re a pathetic excuse for a human being, Glenn Quagmire. I’m probably the only girl who turned down sex from you who wasn’t a lesbian, although I suppose you have your ways of going Gili all over them, you’re so fucked up...” I reach out then and yank him up by the collar, nearly laughing at how pathetic and insignificant he looks. “If. You. Ever. So. Much. As. Blink. At. Brian. Ever. Again. I. Will. See. To. It. That. Your. Precious. Little. Soldier. Is. Ripped. From. Your. Testicles. Do. You. Understand. Me?”

Quagmire shakes in front of me in his airplane seat. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” I shove him away then, and, for good measure, give him a punch in his ‘little solider’ so that he sobs like a baby. “Enjoy your lunch,” I throw over my shoulder, leaving the flight deck to switch clothes with Candy again.

. . .

Brian insists on taking me to the Marriott-Barrington Hotel in Downtown so as we’re close by the hospital in case Paul or Sarah need me. The moment we step into the hotel room, Brian manages to set both of our duffels onto the bed while I walk over to the window. I can see the hospital from it, as it is directly across the street. I remove my cell phone from my pants’ pocket and quickly text Paul, telling him that we are across the street if and when he or Sarah have need of us.

“What the hell?!” Brian demands and, turning, I see Stewie, looking quite unconscious, lying there in his duffel bag.

“What the...?!” I whisper, crossing over to him. “Stewie...?” I am tempted to reach out and attempt CPR, but then...

He seems to open one eye before quickly shutting it again. “You’ve gotta kiss him to wake him up,” he says through the corner of his mouth, like a ventriloquist would.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Brian muttered, shaking his head. “Too bad Meg’s not here,” he muttered to me. “I used her as an excuse last time...”

“Stewie can’t hear you. He’s not awake. Only a kiss will wake him up,” Stewie says in a sing-song voice.

“Fuck this,” I say, leaning down and brushing my lips on Stewie’s.

Stewie promptly, yet playfully pushes me away from him then, laughing. “No, Viv, that’s not what I... Well, never mind what I meant.”

“Stewie, what the hell are you doing here?!” Brian demands. “Do you realize how dangerous it was to sneak into our duffel bags?! Peter and Lois will have my ass...”

“Not to worry, Brian,” Stewie replies with a smile. “Lois and the Fat Man already know where I’ve gone, and they’re quite all right with it. Chris himself suggested I go.”

“Chris?!” I demand. “Stewie, you know I love you, right?”

He chuckles. “Why, of course, Vivienne. You’re exactly like the sister I never had.”

“But Meg’s...” I shake my head then, not wishing to divert from the topic at hand. “How in the hell could Chris suggest you coming with us?”

Stewie laughed aloud then. “Chris is one of the family members that can understand me, or at least get the grasp or the gist of what I’m saying. Anyhow, I asked him to ask Lois and the Fat Man and they thought the idea was splendid. Lois even suggested to Peter that they go to stay at Mayor West’s and Carol’s house for the weekend.”

“Why would they do that?” Brian asks.

“Because Meg and Chris are old enough to stay by themselves for a night or two,” Stewie replies simply.

“No, I mean why would they go to Mayor West’s and Carol’s house?”

“Because, Brian, Mayor West handed over power to the Deputy Mayor for the weekend so that he and Carol could have a second honeymoon. Apparently, after she had that affair with the other mayor and Mayor McCheese, then he believed that they needed some quality alone time. Lois and Peter will probably do it in front of that bear skin rug they have in the official mayor’s study...yes, or whatever it is rich and powerful political figures have in their home...”

Brian growls a little at that, and I smack him on the back of the head.

“Hey! Woman carrying your child right here!” I cry out.

Brian continues growling, not listening.

“Bad dog!” I scream. “Bad dog!”

Finally, Brian’s ears go back and he turns around and kneels in front of me. “I’m sorry, Vivienne, really. I know I shouldn’t disobey and be attracted to Lois. I’m over it, I promise. I won’t do it again. Please. Please, forgive me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re probably just jet-lagged or something,” I say, not in the mood to deal with his infidelity-like feelings. I massage my temples and lower myself onto the bed, tempted to take advantage of the massage package the hotel offers—those airplane seats became terribly uncomfortable after a certain number of hours. I reach up and begin rubbing my neck with my hand, and Stewie quickly pads over.

“I took a Thai massage course at the learning annex,” he says, positioning one of the duffels behind me, so as he can stand upon it. “Oh, my... Vivienne, you’re very tense. Did you know that?”

I grimace at that. “Thanks...”

“Hey, it’s to be expected. That long flight any everything...” He pops his knuckles briefly before fanning out his fingers and wiggling them. He then proceeds to dig his small elbow into my back, and I let out a squeal—I’m very sensitive.

“Stewie!” Brian cries, making a grab for him, shoving him against the headboard. “I’m gonna kill you! Why the hell would you do that?!”

“Hey, man, that’s a natural way to get knots out,” Stewie says, putting up his hands in a quick, surrendering motion. “At least, that’s what Miss Wei-Ling told us in class...”

“Wei-Ling?” Brian demands. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No. That’s really her name...”

“Dammit...” Brian releases Stewie, who quickly rushes back over to me and settles himself in my lap. “God..._not_ Wei-Ling...”

“Wei-Ling?” I whisper to Stewie.

Stewie responds with a shrug. “I don’t know,” he replies.

“She’s a girl that I accidentally stole from Quagmire about a year and a half ago,” Brian says softly. “She’s running a fraudulent business, Stewie, I hope you know that...”

“Oh, no, Brian. It’s not one of _those_ kinds of massage parlors, if that’s what you’re referring to, you know. We’re-we’re not so inclined to wear lingerie or do any kinds of ‘special favors’ for particular clients...”

“Stewie, that’s not what I mean,” Brian snaps lightly. “I mean, Wei-Ling isn’t Thai. She’s Japanese. In fact, her name isn’t Wei-Ling at all. It’s Marisha, and she’s Tricia Takanawa’s twin sister.”

I raise my eyebrows. “I didn’t know Tricia had a twin,” I say.

Brian snorts. “Yeah, well, she’s been able to keep that vital information under wraps. Tricia is a big name in Quahog, and if word got out that her twin sister was submitting to an ethic, negative stereotype, then there would be hell to pay. You have to get a loan for a massage studio anywhere. How in the hell do you think Marisha paid for that?”

“My guess? Tricia,” I reply.

“You’d be guessing right,” Brian said, climbing up onto the bed beside me and lying down on his back. “Marisha is a...complicated woman. At one time, I would have said she was totally and completely stunning. She seemed so vulnerable and I just wanted to help her, but then she turned me on to...”

“What?” Stewie asked.

Brian shudders. “BDSM,” he replies. “She loved tying me up and choking me, especially when she had the ability to blindfold me. God, it was such a turn on for her...”

“How did it end?” I asked quietly.

“Oh, she wandered back to Quagmire eventually. I was too much of a control freak to let her keep tying me down like that—figuratively, physically and emotionally...”

I nod. “I see...” A sudden buzz stops what would have been a lull in the conversation, and I quickly make a grab for my phone, as Stewie and Brian do the same. “It’s me,” I say, swiping right on the green phone icon. “Paul?”

“Viv!” he cries, his voice full of relief. “You say you’re across the street at the hotel?”

“Yes, yes! We’re here. We brought Stewie because Peter and Lois thought... I’m so sorry, I know now we shouldn’t have...”

“No, it’s fine. He’ll be a welcome distraction. We can’t wait to meet him. You’ve spoken so highly of the little gentleman, and I’m sure Felix, Jackie, and Daphne would love to meet him as well...”

I nod. “Of course. How are they holding up?”

“They’re in rough shape,” Paul confesses. “They’re sitting with Sarah now—they...” He catches his breath for a moment, and I can almost hear the sob catching in the back of his throat. “...they had to put her in a medically-induced coma, Viv.”

“No...” I whisper.

“Yeah. She was threatening to kill herself...”

I find myself sliding to the floor, Stewie quickly making a beeline off my lap. “When did this happen?” I whisper.

“Just last night, before you boarded the flight. I had to be with her, so I couldn’t tell you sooner...” His voice breaks.

“Where are you?”

“Outside. I needed some air...”

I get to my feet. “I’m coming.” I hang up before he can protest and dig through my suitcase for my shawl. “Brian, take Stewie to Pike Place Market,” I say, gathering the piece of warm material and putting it around my shoulders. “He’d love so many of the little shops there from around the world...”

“But I want to meet your family,” Stewie complained.

I smiled and kissed his forehead. “And I’m quite sure they want to meet you,” I reply. “But right now, my brother needs me. Besides, the market is less than a ten-minute walk from here—Seattle’s not really known for its expert cab service, I’m afraid,” I say rather ruefully to the pair of them. “Now, I’ve got to go...”

Brian takes me by the hand and pulls me downwards to kiss him. “I love you, Viv. And I’ll keep my phone on vibrate in case you need anything.”

I smile down at him. “Thank you. You’re a good dog,” I say before slipping from the room and walking down the corridor of the hotel. I take the elevator all the way down to the lobby, before stepping out and waving to the kindly receptionist, who I remember had the name of Madison. I step out into the overcast day, waiting impatiently for the signal to change for me to walk down the street. Finally, the little silver man appeared, and I crossed the street and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

“Viv!”

Turning, I saw Meera coming from down the street, a Starbucks in her hand. “Meera!” I shout, running towards my sister, who had decided to come back to finish up the semester at her college in Bellevue after all. “Hey...”

“Hey,” she replies, putting her arms around me, careful not to spill any kind of coffee onto me at all. “I didn’t know when you were getting in... I would have gotten you from the airport if I’d...”

I shake my head. “No, Meera, it’s cool, really.” I manage to pull back from her and smile across at the face identical to mine. “It’s not just me...”

“What?” she asks.

“Brian and Stewie are up in the hotel room,” I reply. “I sent them to Pike Place Market. It’ll be good for Stewie to see it...”

“Why didn’t you invite them to come in?” Meera asks, nodding up at the impressive glass and chrome building next to us.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I want to keep it family only for now, you know...”

“Isn’t Brian family yet?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. We’re not engaged yet...”

“Yet?” Meera asks, smiling for the first time. “What does that mean?”

I smile a little in return. “He says that he’s going to ask me to marry him at some point, and that was before I even told him...”

“And after?” Meera wants to know.

I sigh. “Well, he didn’t take it back...”

She nods. “Probably in shock...”

I grin a bit. “Yeah, probably...”

Meera locks her arm in mine and we head inside the hospital as she sips her drink quietly through its green straw. We make our way to the elevator and click button number ‘seven’ before the chrome doors ding shut behind us. It barely takes a minute to ride up to the right floor, and soon we are standing in an elaborately carpeted foyer—the carpet in a crimson-brown color with flecks of gold; the walls are an appealing green; there is a glass and chrome circular table next to the wall to the right, with what appears to be a Pottery Barn lamp on it. We make our way through the glass doorway and into the hall, where we see Paul leaning up against the wall, his head in his phone, his ‘I’m just checking my emails’ face plastered center stage.

He looks up as we step closer, relief flooding his gaze as he quickly pockets his phone and comes towards us. He puts his arms around us and holds us close, and then instructs Meera to go in and check on Felix, Jackie, and Daphne. Good naturedly, Meera complies, and Paul and I stand in silence for several minutes, just content to be together again. After what seems like a long time, he pulls back and looks at me.

“You look good,” he says.

I smile. “Thanks.”

“How are the twins?” he wants to know.

I smile. “They’re good,” I reply. “Really good. I’m getting plenty of rest and attempting not to give into too many cravings...”

“Some cravings are okay,” Paul allows. “What does your body really want?”

“Oddly, raspberries and whipped cream,” I reply. “And I’ve fallen asleep with a barely-full jar of Nutella and a spoon...”

Paul laughs. “Well, those things can’t be that bad...” He looks around briefly for a moment and sighs. “Just so you know, Colin’s been around...”

At once, my blood runs cold. “Colin?” I demand through my teeth. “Why are you giving me this information?”

“Just to prepare you,” Paul replied. “I know he did a shitty thing to you, Viv, but that doesn’t mean he’s not good at his job. He’s given Sarah his undivided attention and, well... I just think he’s changed is all.”

“No.” I pull back from him then. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that to me! I don’t want to hear all about Colin being a so-called saint!”

“Viv...” Paul tries.

“No!” I shout. “It was over the moment he fucked Maia in his office and ruined everything between us...” My voice catches in my throat, and soon tears develop in my eyes. “I loved him,” I whisper. “He was the first guy I ever loved, and he majorly fucked up, Paul. I wanted to lose my virginity to him. I wanted to find my dream house with him. I wanted to marry him. I wanted to have my dream wedding with him. I wanted to have his babies...” My voice breaks.

“I’m sorry,” Paul replies. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to warn you, and I did the totally knee-jerk reaction of defending the man who was once my best friend. I should have defended you, Viv. Hey, come on, don’t cry.” He puts his arms around me again. “You’re my sister. Family _always_ comes first, you know that.”

I sigh, settling into his arms. “It’s okay. It was mostly—dare I say it—hormones, anyway.” I shrug. “Who knows? Maybe these babies have a chance at being normal...”

Paul chuckles before bringing me in to see Sarah. His face soon crumples at the sight of her and—though I understand the depth and importance of their relationship—it hurts me that he all but ignores the kids. I decide to take action.

“Paul, why don’t Meera and I take the kids to Pike Place Market for a walk and some lunch?” I ask him. “Brian and Stewie are already down there and would love to meet them, and maybe a trip to the Seattle Art Museum afterwards...”

“Yeah, sure, fine,” Paul replies, not looking at any of us as he takes Sarah’s hand.

“I’ll meet you outside,” I say softly, crossing over to Sarah’s other side and taking her vacated hand. “Hey, big sis.” I squeeze her hand. “Lots of people are thinking about you out here, y’know.” I smile down at her face, flawless in sleep. “We love you, Sarah. I know you’re going to come out of this and rise above, because there’s never been anyone like you, and there won’t ever be anyone like you.” I step closer, kissing her forehead briefly before returning her hand to her side. I squeeze Paul’s shoulder as I walk by before slipping out of her room and back down the corridor.

“Viv?”

I turn at the sound of my voice, and my heart skips a beat when I see Colin. I do my best to remain polite, and to not do the following:

  1. Run up to him and smack him
  2. Run up to him and pummel him
  3. Run up to him and kiss him

I force myself to stand my ground and, to distract myself, I clench my hands into fists, and sigh a bit in distraction as my nails bite at my palms. “Hello, Colin.”

He sighs. He looks brilliant. He was almost thirty now, yet he looked as radiant as he had when we’d been dating. He managed a small smile; this was the first time we’d been alone in years, and it felt...well, weird. To me, it felt as if we were breaking the law or something, and I did not enjoy that feeling.

“What’s going on? Going to lunch?”

“Yes,” I reply, crossing my arms. “I suppose you’ve met Meera?”

“Yes,” he says. “The resemblance is...really remarkable, if I do say so myself. Just the two of you are going to lunch then?” His voice, and facial expression, are, shall we say, totally hopeful, almost as if part of him wonders if I’m still with Brian or, if he can manage to weasel his way into an invitation somehow. “I’ve got some time free...”

“Um, no, not just us,” I say quickly. “Meera and I are taking Felix, Jackie, and Daphne out for lunch,” I say, almost as if this will be a turn-off.

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I love those kids.”

“And Brian and Stewie are in from out of town,” I say.

His eyes cloud over ever so slightly. “I know Brian, but...”

“Stewie is his owner’s son,” I reply, feeling weird for referring to Brian as a possession, when he was, in fact, my boyfriend. “Brian took Stewie down to the Market and Meera, the girls, and Felix and I are meeting them down there for lunch.”

He sighs. “Well, I’ve got rounds to make before my business lunch anyway...”

“I see. Got to go now,” I say, turning around and moving again in the direction of the foyer and the elevators.

“And Viv?”

I turn. “Yes?”

“Great to see you,” Colin says before going down another corridor.

. . .

I meet Meera, Felix, Jackie, and Daphne outside and quickly place a call to Brian, telling him and Stewie to meet us at Lowell’s on the water. I’d gone there once when I was about ten and had loved it immensely, and decided it best that I take everyone there. We make our way down the hill, towards the water, when the kids see some street musicians and stop to listen. Meera and I throw in a few singles each to their guitar cases, and she puts a hand onto my arm briefly.

“You took a while,” she says softly. “Is Paul all right? Did Sarah wake up?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Ran into Colin in the hallway...”

Meera makes a face. “Get out! You serious?!”

I nod. “Yeah, ‘fraid so.”

She sighs. “Well, sounds like we’ll have to make the best of this day out here. I’m sure the kids need some food...and distraction,” she added quietly.

We five continued down to the water front, and soon the crowd parted slightly and there were Brian and Stewie, at the center of it all. We made our way towards them, and I bent down to kiss Brian on the cheek. Stewie seemed to take an immediate liking to Felix and, despite being polite to the girls, he wanted Felix to hold his hand as we walked into the restaurant. We were soon called to a nice round table in the center of everything and took our places; I sat between Brian and Meera. Menus were passed around, and I made sure the kids only ordered water and fruit juice; I really didn’t need them getting all amped up on sugary, unhealthy soda...not now.

We ordered our drinks and decided on the calamari for the appetizer. Meera liked the look of the pork tacos; Brian wanted the salmon; Felix and Stewie decided upon the Reuben sandwich; Jackie wanted a BLAT (bacon, lettuce, avocado and tomato sandwich); Daphne requested the turkey club; and I opted for the Beecher’s Flagship white cheddar and tomato sandwich—hold the tomato!

The drinks and our calamari soon came and soon we were all telling stories and laughing like a typical family. I felt relaxed in all this, and was having quite a good time when suddenly my bladder pressed upon itself and I had to pee. Getting to my feet, I told Brian I’d be right back and made my way towards the bathrooms in the back of the restaurant. As I stepped closer, and I was no longer in view of our table, I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Colin exiting the bathroom.

“Colin...”

He looks up. “Viv? Twice in one day,” he chuckles. “You’re spoiling me...”

I make a grab for him and—after checking that nobody is around—haul him into the ladies’ room. Just as I am about to round on him, he speaks again.

“Well, I’m flattered, Viv, really, but...”

“Shut _up_!” I cry out. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

He sighs. “Business lunch, remember?” he asks. “The doctor—he’s an incompetent son of a bitch outside the office, but what can you do? —made it at the last minute, so we couldn’t have it at Red Cedar & Sage or The Pink Door or Place Pigalle...”

“What?!” I demand, thinking that he’s speaking in tongues.

“They’re upscale restaurants in the area,” Colin replies patiently. “Don’t worry. I’m not stalking you or anything.”

I sigh. “Good. Because I’m almost engaged and...”

“Engaged?” he asks, his face going white. “Oh. I had no idea it was that serious with you and Brian...”

“Well, it is,” I say, wanting to ham it up and lay it on thick, to let him know that I was most definitely off the market. “It shouldn’t matter to you anyway, Colin, you know that. I mean, fucking Maia in your office...” I manage to chuckle. “Pretty low, if you ask me. And isn’t it in your code of conduct as a doctor to do no harm?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

I shrug. “Oh, well. So you have a 99.9% approval rating. That’s good.”

“What can I do to make it 100%?” he asks.

I sigh. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Colin. You pretty much told me to get the fuck out and then you expected the engagement to go on as if nothing had happened!”

“Viv...”

“No, you listen to me,” I say, forcing my voice not to break. “I wanted to be everything to you, and I wanted you to be everything to me.” I sigh. “Do you know that my relationship with my family was completely destroyed afterwards?” I whisper. “I mean, sure, they hated me before—I went against the church, after all. Sure, I may have gotten good grades in school and picked a good career—teaching children is a woman’s job, apparently. Besides, I knew full well that marrying you would suddenly change things. I knew that. But what I didn’t account for were my feelings. I was marrying you for convenience, I’ll admit that. But I did not—I _did not_—intend on falling in love with you. I fell in love with you, Colin,” I whisper to him, tears flooding my vision. “And you had no regard for my feelings... Of course, I could never fathom why someone like you was even with me. Did you use me?” I demand. “Did you use me to get to my family to get ahead...?”

“Never,” he replies, lowering his eyes. “I’m just... I’m shocked. I now understand your low opinion of me.” He raises his gaze to mine. “Paul didn’t mention it, did he?”

“What?” I ask. “Did you knock Maia up?”

“No, nothing like that.” He sighs. “Paul and Sarah...they’re drug users, Viv.”

I shake my head, moving to leave the bathroom—I could always pee later. “You’re out of your mind.”

“I’m serious, Viv,” he says, pulling me back.

“That’s crazy... Hell, Colin, you know I smoke pot...”

He shakes his head. “Not pot, Viv.” He sighs. “They’re doing cocaine and heroin by the pound. I say ‘pound’ and not ‘gram’ because that’s how much they use it...” He bites his lip then, conflicted. “Ever notice the way they dress?”

“Formal,” I reply. “Why?”

“It’s Seattle—unpredictable weather,” he says. “But they’re always wearing long sleeves, day in and day out...”

I feel my knees go weak. He was right. I remembered once, the last time I came to visit, when I was about to go and meet Meera. Paul and I had been messing around, and I’d grabbed ahold of his sleeve and tried to pull it up. As kids, his arms had been especially ticklish, and I wanted to get him. However, he’d smacked my hand away and ordered me not to touch him. Later, he’d claimed that he’d gotten a contagious skin rash that I’d probably never heard of and to not to go near his arms or legs. Now, I knew why—he’d wanted to disguise the pin pricks...

“What are you saying?” I whispered.

“I’m saying that Sarah went too far,” he replies.

“Meaning...?” I shake my head then, attempting to wrap my head around it. “No. No! You’re not saying that she...”

“We think so,” Colin whispered. “I managed to disguise the tests so it appeared that she did not intend to kill the baby—which she didn’t. I altered the tests to make it look like there were legal drugs in her system...”

“Why would you do that?” I demand. “Why would you help them?”

“Two things,” he replies. “One, because, when you caught me with Maia, I was high out of my mind. Remember? I was nice to you except for that one day. I OD’d, Viv. I was high on cocaine, and that shit can make you see anything. Honestly... Do you remember what Maia looked like?”

“Brunette, kind of short, pale skin, dark eyes...”

“Exactly,” Colin replied. “To someone who is high beyond belief on a new drug, when you’re that blitzed, anyone can look like anyone. I know it’s a lame excuse, Viv, but it’s true...”

“But why?” I asked.

He sighed. “Paul and Sarah were my suppliers, Viv,” he explains. “I alter their test results and they don’t turn me in for drug possession. Very simple.” Just as I’m about to protest his logic, he continues, “No. They’ve altered things to make it appear like I’m a low-life drug mule and, despite the fact that I’ve been clean for almost two years, they can make anything happen. They’re dangerous people, Viv.”

I lower my eyes. “What’s the second reason?”

“What?”

I raise my eyes to his. “You said that there were two reasons to your telling me all this. Now, what’s the second reason?”

He sighs. “The second reason...” He steps closer, so as I am standing up against the wall, trapped. “The second reason, Vivienne Shaw, is that I’m still in love with you...”

“Colin...”

“I know you’re almost engaged, but I can’t help it. If I hadn’t fucked up and gotten hooked, then we’d be married right now, with kids on the way...”

I flush. “Well, I...”

He nods. “I know about the twins,” he replies, smiling sadly, reaching out and cupping my face. He wipes one of my tears with his thumb, before dragging his thumb across my lips, causing me to shudder. He’s not playing fair. “I know you love Brian...”

“I do.”

“But can you honestly say that you feel nothing for me?”

I lower my eyes; there’s no denying it. After this flood of information, I realize now that I am not supposed to be with Brian at all. But I am. I remember how brokenhearted I felt when I thought he was going to get back with Jillian in Newport... And then my mind rewound itself even further, to when I saw Colin and Maia together...and I found it hurt more. I raised my eyes to Colin’s. “Colin, I...”

“Yes?”

I sighed, tears flooding my eyes. “You’re right, I do still love you.” Just ask he leans in to kiss me, I put my fingers against his lips. “But we can’t...”

“What?”

I sigh. “It’s not you, really. I _want_ to be with you, more than you know, but we can’t. Just not yet...”

“What are you going to do?” he asks, his voice hurt. “Marry Brain, wait until the kids are eighteen, and then divorce him?”

I sigh and shake my head. “No. But I need some time, is all. Just a few days. I want to crack down on what happened with Paul and Sarah—get them arrested. Then I’ll seize their assets, get their house and property. Then I’ll sue for custody of Felix, Jackie, and Daphne in the meantime. Then I’ll do classes in the daytime and online ones to get my degree, and in the meanwhile, I’ll stay here. The long distance should put a damper on things with Brian and then...” I smile up at him. “I know what to do...”

“What?” he asks.

I continue to smile. “Brian never got over Jillian,” I reply. “Brian just needs to see that he’s meant to be with her, and then he’ll never want me and the kids tying him down...”

“And you’re sure Brian’s not going to propose now?”

I shake my head. “No. We have an agreement. I said this trip was all about Paul and Sarah, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“So... I’ve got you back?”

I get on my toes and kiss his cheek. “Soon,” I reply. “Soon, my love. I promise.”


	10. Angel of the Morning

I come out of the bathroom and make a beeline for my seat at the table, where the waiter has just arrived to take our order. I smile and laugh and make nice with my family while we await our appetizers, all the while waiting for the inevitable. When we arrive back at the hospital around an hour and a half later—after walking through the market to buy some exotic chocolates for the kids (and for me, who are we kidding here?)—we reach Sarah’s room in the hospital. She is sitting up with a secret smile on her face, and Brian and Stewie quickly manage to distract the kids from their mother being awake from her coma with a trip to the gift shop to get her some overpriced things to help her feel better.

“Well?” Paul asked, eyebrows raised.

I nod, reaching into my bra and pulling out the wire. “I got it. I got everything.” I give him a quick smile. “Now, where’s Detective Stabler?”

“You watch too much _Law & Order_,” Sarah says, shaking her head. “_Her_ name is Detective Michelle Kensington. She’s here. She’s checking out another case and she’ll be back shortly, don’t worry.”

I take a seat beside Meera on the other side of the bed, fiddling with the wire ever so slightly with my hands. “I had to pretend I didn’t know anything,” I said softly. “Do you know how difficult that was?”

Sarah sighs. “Well, the fake pregnancy was more difficult,” she replies.

Paul wrinkles his nose. “There’s actually a recipe online to make it appear as if you’ve suffered a miscarriage,” he says, shaking his head. “God, I can’t believe I actually did that and...ew,” he says softly, shuddering.

“I don’t want to hear it!” Meera cries, covering her ears. “No, no, no...”

I sigh, reaching out to take her hand. “And the fake heroin marks?”

“Make-up,” Sarah says proudly. “Remember my brother, Johnny? Well, he’s been doing make-up on those Broadway shows for years. He managed to give us a tutorial over Skype that we saved and voila, fake heroin needle marks.”

Detective Michelle Kensington arrived shortly afterwards, her attractive blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She took a seat beside Paul and smiled at Meera and me, her ice-blue eyes having nothing cold about them. She had a long nose—much like the House of Valois of France, yet, it was appealing in that the bridge had no faults to it—and a blossom mouth that shone with pretty pink lip gloss. “What do we got?” she asked, looking down at my hands which held the wire.

“Everything you asked for,” I reply, handing it over. “It was so hard to hear those things, and I actually had to make myself think that I still wanted him...” I make mock retching noises and shook my head. “God, it was probably the single-most disturbing and disgusting moment in my entire life...”

Det. Kensington smiles. “Well, pending what we get on the tape, we’ll be able to get Paul for slander, and drug possession,” she says, putting it into an evidence bag. “My partner, Det. Ryland, and I will be in touch within twenty-four hours. This case has been moved up to top priority as of noon today.”

“Top priority?” Paul asks, getting to his feet and following Det. Kensington to the door. “I don’t understand. You had so many other cases...”

“We’ve handed those off to experts,” Det. Kensington replied smoothly. “For now, Det. Ryland and I need to focus on your case. Our computer experts will get back to us by the end of the day on whether or not Colin Valentine has any aliases that we need to be worried about. Who knows? He could have had surgery to alter his appearance. He may be a serial killer for all we know,” she says darkly as she quickly leaves down the hall.

Paul turns around and smiles at me. “You really didn’t have to go through all this,” he tells me gently.

I sigh, shaking my head. “I have to get your kids back to you and I have to explain to Brian and Stewie what happened...”

“Stewie’s one,” Sarah says softly. “He understands you?”

“Yes,” Meera says adamantly. “Very much.” She turns to me then. “I’ll go with you to fetch the kids.”

I smile. “Thanks,” I reply and we leave the room together. “You’ve been awfully quiet,” I say as we take the elevator downstairs to the gift shop. “Anything wrong?”

She shakes her head. “No. Everything’s right.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Really? What’s right?”

Meera blushes, reaching out to grip my hand. “I’m going back to Quahog with you,” she replies. “When you were busy with Colin in the bathroom, I went to call Roberto. We talked it out and we’re giving it another shot. I love him, Viv. I really do.”

I squeeze her hand. “I’m so happy to hear that, Meera.”

We step out of the elevator, walking across the hallway to the gift shop, where Stewie is, rather enthusiastically, giving his number to Felix. I raise my eyebrows at him and he lets out a chuckle. I look at Brian, who is allowing Jackie and Daphne pick a teddy bear each for their mother, although he and I both know full well that they’ll just keep the stuffed toys for themselves anyhow. He looks up as Meera and I walk in, and calls me over while Meera keeps an eye on the girls.

“She doing okay?” Brian asks. “She seems...”

“In love,” I reply with a quick grin. “Her and Roberto are going to give it another shot. She’s coming back to Quahog with us.”

Brain grins. “That’s wonderful,” he replies, turning to look at the assortment of flowers the gift shop has. “Does Sarah have a favorite? It’s not roses, is it?”

I giggle. “No. That’s mine, silly,” I say, scratching him behind the ear. “She has a fondness for irises and wildflowers, actually, but unfortunately, I don’t see those...” I reach out and make a grab for the pretty bouquet of pink tulips with stripes of yellow in them. “She’ll love these,” I say, and Brian nods in approval.

From the corner of my eye, I see Stewie yawning ever so slightly, and know that we should take him back to the hotel for a nap before dinner. We quickly sign one of those flower cards and hand the bouquet over to Meera to present to Sarah, with the information that Stewie is in desperate need of a nap. I bend down to pick him up, and he begins to fall asleep in my arms as we take him down the elevator, outside and across the street, and into the hotel for another elevator ride and towards our room.

“Had us upgraded to a suite,” he yawns, handing me a different room key. “All our stuff should already be up there...”

I roll my eyes at his cleverness and kiss his forehead, which makes him yawn again and settle more comfortably into my arms. We ride the elevator to the top floor and, when the doors ding, head to the one suite the hotel has to offer. The room key works and we step inside, admiring the view for a few moments before I see that the concierge has already brought up a crib for Stewie, and Rupert is placed inside it. I gently lay him down inside it, taking off his overalls so he’ll be more comfortable, and cover him with the little blanket provided with the crib. I shut the curtains around him to make it more comfortable for him and bend down to give him a kiss. I then go with Brian to the master bedroom portion of the suite and shut the French doors before lying on my back on the king-sized bed.

“Comfortable?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes, thank you.”

Brian lies down beside me and crawls over, listening to my stomach. “Have the two of them been behaving today?”

I giggle. “For the most part, yes.”

“I meant what I said, you know.”

I find myself shutting my eyes—my god these pillows are entirely amazing! “About what?” I ask, and I find myself smiling as he caresses my stomach.

“I am going to propose to you eventually...”

I sigh, knowing that we have to talk. I punch the pillows so that they’re parallel to the bed frame and sit up, facing him, my hands placed on top of my swollen belly. “Brian, you and I have to talk...”

He sighs. “Here we go...”

“What?”

He rubs his temples. “Just, give it to me straight. Are we doing a joint custody arrangement here, or do I have to fight to see them every third Christmas?”

My eyebrows knit together. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you running into Colin at the restaurant and staying with him in the ladies’ room for minutes and minutes,” Brian replies levelly.

I feel my face drain of color. “How did you know about that?”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Really? Really, Viv? I’m a dog. How the hell do you think I figured it out?”

I lowered my eyes. “I suppose your nose may have had something to do with it...”

“Yes, I suppose so,” he says heatedly. He sighs. “So...just tell me. Are you going back with Colin? Is that what we need to discuss?”

“Brian, no, of course not!” I cry, hurt that he would even consider such a thing. “No. Colin...I was just using him.”

“Using him?” Brian asks. “What? I can’t satisfy you anymore?”

“Brian, ew!” I cry. “I’ve never slept with Colin and I never will, okay?!”

“So...not for sex?”

“No...dammit,” I say, proceeding to rub my temples now. “Sarah never was pregnant, and she never was in a coma...”

“What are you talking about?”

I sigh. “Colin has been attempting to blackmail Paul and Sarah for months,” I say softly, not how I wanted to do this, but still. “He’s been preparing a dossier of alleged information against them about how they’re drug users...”

“They smoke pot,” Brian replies rather defensively.

I nod. “Yeah, so do a lot of people. And when Sarah suffered an actual miscarriage after the twins were born, Paul was smoking over two packs a day to get over the depression, but he kicked the habit, years ago. But Colin has been claiming that Paul and Sarah embezzled money from the hospital and through other channels—like charity auctions and benefit dinners—in order to feed their cocaine and heroin habit. But it isn’t true, Brian. All he’s doing is saying that they’re doing it, and that they pressured him into doing the drugs too. So there’s embezzlement, fraud, drug possession... And Colin could work a plea deal where he gives the courts all this information and then himself get out with a slap on the wrist. But Paul actually caught him stealing the money and doing drugs, but in order for Paul’s secret not to get out, Colin would have to be caught and found to be an unreliable witness...”

“What’s Paul’s secret?” Brian asked.

I sighed. “About three and a half years before he and Sarah started dating, Paul was in a relationship with a girl named Persephone,” I say softly. “She was some exotic dancer or something, I don’t know. But Persephone got pregnant, and she and Paul had a little boy together that she named Stan. Paul gives her a few hundred every month and Persephone works as a waitress in a diner Downtown here. Sarah still doesn’t know about Stan, and Paul entered into a lucrative contract where he must list every member of his family and assets and such and, according to him, he never put Stan there as a legal relative of his anywhere in the paperwork...”

“So you’ve got another nephew out there?”

I nod. “Yeah. Paul told me when I turned eighteen, just before I started dating Colin. Stan’s a nice kid—he’s in middle school now.”

Brian sighs. “So...how’d you make out with Colin?”

“Oh, there was no kissing,” I reply, winking at Brian. “I claimed that I’d help him take down Paul and Sarah, then I’d leave you and get full custody. Then I would seize Paul’s and Sarah’s assets and get custody, and then I’d marry him.”

“And he believed you?” Brian asked.

I smiled. “Unless he’s a better actor than I am, yes.”

He sighs. “I should’ve never doubted you.”

I nod. “It’s all right,” I reply. “Hey, if you suddenly told me that you had to attempt to seduce Jillian for something or other, I’d be pretty mad, too.”

Brian smiles and takes my hand. “Never again, with Jillian I mean.”

I squeeze his hand. “Never again, with Colin I mean.”

. . .

The next week was one of the most eventful times in my young life, and that’s really saying something, to tell you the truth. The police were able to figure out that Colin Valentine—and let me tell you, nobody was as shocked as I was—was an alias for Chad Zachary, who was a former reality T.V. star based on Quahog, who, according to Stewie, was the East Coast equivalent to the Kardashians. Chad Zachary was formally booked on charges of fraud, embezzlement, blackmail, and drug related charges before the week was out. Before he was due to be sentenced, he turned to the T.V. cameras, and, from where we were all watching in Paul and Sarah’s living room, a chill went down my spine.

“I just want to thank the love of my life, Vivienne Shaw, who helped me see that I need to plead guilty. I love you, baby. I hope you wait for me on the outside.”

I felt sick and we weren’t able to leave town for another two days because I was so stressed that I kept vomiting. Finally, I was able to board a plane with Stewie, Brian, and Meera, and we were on our way back to Quahog. The seven-hour flight was draining, but thankfully I was able to get some good sleep during the flight. Upon our return, the four of shared a cab on the ride home, and got out on Spooner Street. We hugged each other in turn before Meera scooped up Stewie and brought him inside the Griffin house, while Brian and I went up to the garage apartment of the Brown residence. A text from Donna welcomed me home and she encouraged me to take the weekend off to get off the whole jet-lag trip.

After unpacking and whatnot, Brian and I were in bed by nine-thirty, and woke up around eight the following morning. Cleveland and Donna had gone up to Portsmouth for the weekend, where Cleveland had inherited a family cottage. Lois texted me that morning to ask if Brian and I would like to come over for brunch, and we accepted. I put on a knee-length black skirt and a white blouse and my Mary Janes and waited for Brian to straighten his collar out properly. We made our way across the street with some fresh raspberries from a bush I’d planted a few months back, and Lois was very pleased with them.

Brian and I sat together at the big table in the Griffins’ dining room, and I was pleased to see that Roberto had joined the event as well. Just as we were getting things on the table, the doorbell rang and Lois bit her lip. “Dammit,” she said softly. “I’ve got to get everything onto the table...”

“I’ll get it,” I say with a smile, and she sighs in relief, thanking me. I walk out into the living room and open the door, seeing a flamboyantly-dressed white dog and a lean man who looks to be of Filipino descent standing on the stoop. “Hi,” I said politely. “Can I help you two gentlemen?”

“Hi, cousin-to-be!” the little dog shouts, pulling me down and hugging me. “I’m Jasper, it’s so nice to _finally_ meet you!” he gushes. “I’m Brian’s cousin, in case you didn’t already figure that out! But who am I kidding?! Of course you did! Brian says you’re different that all the other women he’s been with, so I guess that makes you one of the smart ones!” Jasper giggles then, and I find myself laughing along with him. His fur has a bit of poof to it on top and he wears a gold earring in each ear, along with a pink tank top and jean booty shorts which he is clearly wearing to show off his legs. “Oh, where are my manners?! This is my hairless, Filipino boy, Ricardo, also known as my husband and, according to little Stewie, my chew toy.”

“Nice to meet you both,” I reply. “I’m Vivienne.”

“Oh, of course you are,” Jasper says. “What a lovely name!”

“I heard voices,” says Meera from behind me. “Oh, hello!” she says, catching sight of Jasper as he and Ricardo step inside. “Aren’t you adorable?”

“Honey, please. You are far more adorable than I am. I mean look at me! Ricardo and I decided to take a honeymoon _now_ of all times! It’s summer! Sure we went on a two-week cruise to the Caribbean for free—I work at Club Med, darlings, as a dance instructor—but there I was on the plane beforehand sitting on my money maker when all these sailors came on board the plane. Hello?! Who’s that on the phone? Temptation!”

“Lots of free drinks to go with the free cruise?” Meera asks.

“Sweetie, of course. Three Tropical Sunrises, plus seven Mai Tai’s, and then about five or six Cosmos and I was on my ass—except in the opposite direction! We’ve got to get our kicks somehow—the nautical way, baby!”

“Jasper!” Brian says, coming into the room. “So good to see you!”

“Hey, cousin!” Jasper practically squeals, dashing across the room towards Brian and hugging him, both of their tails wagging. “It’s been too long...”

“You’re telling me,” Brian replies. “Two weeks in Hollywood at your place and then another week here when you two got married. Last I saw you was that time on Skype when I needed a shoulder to cry on about my play...”

“What were you in Hollywood for?” I ask.

“Uh, well...” Brian says, bringing his collar outwards from his neck in a cliché nervous reaction moment.

“He didn’t tell you?!” Jasper cries, playfully swatting Brian’s shoulder. “I’m _not_ shocked! He worked in the adult film industry for a week and a half down there. He won a Woody while he was over there...”

“A Woody?” Meera and I ask together.

“Oh, you two are so innocent it has to be fattening,” Jasper chuckles. “A Woody is an Oscar for the porn industry.”

“Porn?!” Meera cries, shocked.

I shrug. “Hey, as long as the parties were over eighteen, I could give a damn,” I say, looking from one face to the next.

Brian’s jaw drops. “You mean, you don’t care?”

I shrug again. “Not really...”

Relief floods Brian’s face and he sighs. “Oh, good...”

“Oh, great. You’re into the part of the relationship where you lie to each other,” Peter says, coming into the room. “Hey, Jasper! Hey, Ricardo!”

“Hi, Peter!” Jasper says.

“Do you have any more of those brownies you bought in the Quahog Gay District that you had last time for your depression?” Peter asks. “They packed so much fudge into those, and the fact that there were some walnuts lodged in there...”

Jasper laughs and dives into his shoulder bag. “Here. They came in packs of three, nine, and twenty. I got you the twenty pack, if that’s all right.”

“Is that all...? Wow.” He takes the pack and sighs. “How long are you two going to be staying with us...?”

“We were thinking maybe the weekend if it’s not too much trouble,” Jasper replies.

“That’s okay,” I say, stepping in. “Meera, my couch pulls out if you...”

“Don’t be silly, Vivienne,” Peter says. “We bought a new rollaway bed last month with a top-of-the-line mattress. Meera, would you mind staying in Stewie’s room on the rollaway bed for the weekend?”

“Actually, Peter, Roberto and I have been talking about it... He lives in an apartment in town and I’m actually moving in with him this weekend. I’m bringing my car from Seattle over and it’s only about a ten-minute drive from his place to here...”

“You’re moving in with Roberto?” I ask, shocked that she didn’t share this news with me. “I am just so shocked right now...”

Meera smiles uncomfortably. “I was going to tell you later...”

I shrug. “Hey, we’ve all got a life to live, right?”

Lois comes out into the living room and grins at the sight of Jasper and Ricardo. “Oh, Jasper! Ricardo! Oh, it is so good to see you two!” she cries, clasping her hands in front of her face. “We were all about to sit down to brunch. There’s plenty for everyone if you would like to join us.”

“Oh, we’d love to!” Jasper cries.

“Chris! Meg! Come bring their bags upstairs!” Peter calls.

“Dad...” Chris says in a warning tone.

“Oh, right, thanks for reminding me. Meg! Get in here and do the job yourself!” Peter shouts angrily.

My head snaps to attention. “Peter!”

Peter turns and looks at me. “What?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” I cry.

Lois turns and looks at me. “Vivienne, do you have a problem with my husband?”

“Yeah, I do,” I say, crossing my arms. “Why do you treat Meg like she’s a piece of shit? I mean, please. What on earth has she ever done to make you so angry? And don’t you dare say existing because it was one of your boys that caused her existence to happen! How dare you call yourself a father of three when you only love one of your kids, like the other one, and despise your only daughter?”

“Uh, Viv, can I see you on the screen room for a moment?” Brian asks, taking me by the arm and pulling me into the room off the living room, where we had our first intellectual conversation so long ago.

“What the hell?!” I demand as soon as Brian has closed the door. “The way the treat Meg is totally uncalled for...”

Brian sighs. “I know, Viv. But, like it or not, Meg isn’t our child...”

I shake my head. “No. No, she’s not. But she’s over eighteen, so she should get the hell out of here as soon as possible in order to get a better outlook on life...”

Brian reaches out and takes my hand. “I agree. But we’ve got to give it some time. Who knows? Maybe she’ll be more successful than any of us.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But...”

“What?”

“I’m very hungry...”

He grins. “Good. So am I.”

“You think I should apologize for the whole business with Meg?” I ask.

Brian raises his eyebrows. “Do you want to?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Then don’t. I’ll get Stewie to zap them with something and it’ll all be forgotten.”

I clap my hands. “Good,” I reply. Suddenly, my phone begins to vibrate and I check to see that Felix’s number is on there. “Oh, dammit, I forgot,” I say, slapping my forehead. “Felix turns twelve today. I guess he’s calling to make sure that I know...”

“Take it,” Brian says. “Put it on speaker. We can tell him together.”

I swipe right on the green phone icon and put it onto FaceTime. “Felix, honey! I’m so sorry I didn’t call sooner! Happy Birthday!” I cry. “Wait...” I check my phone, and it’s not even ten a.m. here yet, which would make it close to seven in Seattle. “Did you wake everyone up early to open your presents?”

“No...” Felix replies softly, tears in his voice.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you sad because I didn’t call? I’m really sorry, buddy. Brian’s cousin Jasper is in town, and...”

“They’re dead,” he says brokenly.

I stop, mid-sentence, and look up at Brian, who shrugs. “Felix, sweetie, what are you talking about?”

Felix’s eyes fill with tears. “That guy...Colin. Colin was here... He...” He breaks off, wiping his eyes again.

“Felix, sweetie? I need you to be really brave and tell me what happened...” I say.

He nods quickly, tears streaming down his face. “He came in the night,” he whispers. “I heard him...recognized his voice. He yelled at Mom and Dad and said that they ruined his life...and then he shot them. And then he shot himself...”

“Sweetheart, did you call the police?” I ask.

He nods again. “Yeah. We’re with them now. Me and Jackie and Daphne. The detective wants to talk to you...” He looks up, presumably at the detective. “Can I go back to my sister’s now?” he asks.

“Yes, of course,” says the detective in the background.

“Thanks,” Felix says, scurrying away.

“Hey, Vivienne,” says Michelle, the detective who handled the case earlier, as she presents her face to the conversation. “I know you must be in a state of shock...”

“Yeah,” I reply, feeling emotionless.

“Well, we’ve managed to meet with attorneys for the moment and their will is dated a year ago, before you knew of Meera’s existence, so all the money, assets, property, and custody of the kids goes to you.”

I look up at Brian, who nods, and he understands. “Is there a stipulation as to where the kids will live?” I ask.

“No.” Michelle shakes her head. “No. Just that they live with you.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding. “I’ll get a flight out there...”

“No need,” Michelle says. “We’re sending the kids to you, with all the legal paperwork as we speak, Vivienne. You’ll be able to work with the lawyer by email and phone to sell the house and any pieces of furniture and antiques you may not want to keep, and then you can use the money to pay for a house out there.”

I nod. “Okay...”

She smiles. “It’s not going to be easy. Is that Brian?”

“Yes. Hello, Michelle,” Brian says politely.

“Brian, why don’t you step out and grab Meera?” Michelle asks. “I know you want to comfort her, but Meera and Vivienne need to grieve in private for a while.”

“Of course. Thank you, Michelle.” Brian kisses my cheek and leaves the room.

“I also wanted to let you know that Paul and Sarah left trusts for the kids in case of anything that would have happened to them. Each trust will be given to them when their eighteen, if they choose not to further their education, or if they do, they will get it at twenty-one. Each trust is worth fifty thousand.”

I nod. “Sounds about right...”

“As for you, you were left some money as well...”

“Money?” I ask, shaking my head.

“Yes. You were left a hundred thousand dollars by Paul and Sarah...”

“Wait, wait. The lawyer just gave the information to you?”

“Yes. I was made the children’s’ temporary guardian until they can be sent over to you in Rhode Island.”

“Oh, yes, I see,” I reply.

“The kids’ll be on a flight no later than this afternoon,” Michelle says breezily. “What airport should we send them to? Providence?”

“No, Quahog Airport, please, Michelle,” I reply as Meera comes into the room. “Meera is here, Michelle.”

“All right. You two have a lot to discuss. I’ll be in touch. Goodbye,” she says, hanging up before I have a chance to ask to say goodbye to the kids.

“What’s going on?” Meera asks. “Brian says you needed to talk to me about something important?”

I nod; that was one way to put it... “Yes,” I reply.

She sighs. “Look, Viv, I know you think I’m being impulsive by just dropping everything and moving in with Roberto, but I really...”

“Meera.” I step closer and take her hands. “That’s not it.”

“You look very serious,” she says, her eyebrows knitting together. “Should we sit down for this or something?”

I nod. “Yeah. Sitting down is good.”

We sit next to each other on the couch in the screen room, and Meera cocks her head to one side. “Okay. We’re sitting. What’s up?”

I sigh. “Meera, there’s been an accident.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t understand. What kind of accident?”

I bite my lip. “From what I can gather, either Colin evaded police custody by bribery or bail, but, in any case, he went to Paul and Sarah’s house...”

“No,” Meera whispers, her face going white.

I nod again. “Yes. He open fired on Paul and Sarah before killing himself. Felix and the girls are in police custody right now for their own protection...”

“We need to fly out there!” Meera cries, getting to her feet.

“No,” I say, gently pulling her down. “No, we don’t.” I sigh, allowing the information I’ve given her to sink in. “Michelle, the detective working with us, has the kids and they’re fine. She’s getting them on a plane with the legal paperwork and they’ll be here by tonight. I guess we’ll manage to send for their things somehow for the move...”

“The move?” Meera asks. “What are you talking about?”

“Paul and Sarah gave me custody,” I reply, knowing that this will be a difficult pill to swallow for her. “Apparently, the latest copy of Paul and Sarah’s will they found was dated last year —before we met you. So, if anything happened to them, they wanted me to have the kids because, at that time, I was the only other surviving sibling.”

“Doesn’t Sarah have that brother in New York?” Meera demands, clearly hurt that the will wasn’t revised to include her somehow.

I sigh. “Yes, but he’s not a kid person and he’s never met them,” I say patiently. “Trust me, he’s not an appropriate guardian for them...”

“And how the hell is this situation different?!” Meera cries.

I raise my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t have a proper house, or the money, to take on three kids. Plus, what’s gonna happen when you give birth in a few months?! That’s five kids, Vivienne! What the hell are you going to do?!”

I lower my eyes. “Paul and Sarah left me an inheritance,” I confess. “That, combined with the payment we’ll get from their house, property, land, and antiques being sold in Seattle should be plenty for a house here.”

“An inheritance?!” Meera cries, outraged. “Where’s _my_ inheritance?!”

I raise my eyes to hers. “Don’t fault me for what the will says, Meera,” I say quietly. “I hardly ever asked for anything extreme here. I got a settlement of sorts from Mom and Dad when I moved out, and I used that to buy my car. Since coming into this family, you’ve totally mooched off of everyone. You’ve demanded a luxury car, plus several other luxury items that I can’t even begin to list. You’ve totally changed into a different person. Hell, I’m not surprised that Paul and Sarah didn’t change the will.”

Meera glares at me. “Excuse me?” she asks, deathly quiet.

“Oh, I think you heard me,” I reply. “After I get all my ducks in a row, I’ll be fine. But you, Meera... You still don’t have a clue what you’re going to do. You’re stumbling around and you got back with Roberto—and you’re moving in with him—at the drop of a hat because you have no plan. Me? I’m over halfway done with my teaching degree, and the Browns and the Griffins are going to help me use their connections for a teaching job. And you want to know why I’m working my ass off? Because I want to deserve everything I have. I want to deserve Brian, and the good man he is. I want to deserve the love of his children that I have growing inside me. I want to deserve the love of Felix, Jackie, and Daphne, who I’m now going to raise as my own. And...” I sigh. “At one time, I wanted to deserve your love and respect, but the truth is, Meera, I can’t have that. I can’t have that because you obviously don’t love and respect yourself, and that’s evidenced in your constant need for attention from the opposite sex and other luxury items that you can’t afford, and now never will be able to afford unless you or Roberto win the Powerball.” I shake my head at her, utterly finished with her, my identical twin. “Meera, please leave. Please get out of my life. Run off with Roberto and start somewhere new, far away from me.”

Meera looks as if she will say something, but instead, she merely stamps her foot, and walks out of there like some dumb teenage girl on a below-average sitcom that’s failing in its first season.

FIVE YEARS LATER

So much has happened in the five years since Paul and Sarah died. Here’s a few highlights from that time: Brian proposed to me shortly thereafter; he and I found a lovely house in the Upper West Side of Quahog that could accommodate five children; Brian and I welcomed our daughter, Sabrina Amber and our son, Heathcliff Fitzwilliam, into the world; Brian and I formally adopted Felix, Jackie, and Daphne about a year and a half after they came to live with us; I graduated with honors from Rhode Island College with a Bachelor’s Degree in Education and began work at Martin Mull Elementary School; and Brian and I wrote a bestselling memoir on our experience called _For the Love of a Dog_.

One thing I was very excited about was the fact that Stewie, who was now five years going on thirty, had managed to be skipped four years ahead in school, and pretended like he was now at the appropriate grade level so as he could be in my class. He was a very engaging student, and had won the Most Promising Friend Award at Martin Mull Elementary. He was truly a gifted boy, and Brian and I still made time to go with him on adventures, which would sometimes include Felix, Jackie, and Daphne, and would include Sabrina and Heathcliff—who we called “Heath”—one day.

Meg went on to become a promising mathematician at M.I.T. She told me that when she had a date once with Quagmire, he’d asked her what her favorite subject was in school, and she had told him math. Since then, she is the CEO of Marketing for a starter company with Roberta Brown, Donna’s daughter and Cleveland’s stepdaughter. It has something to do with your body type versus what wardrobe is appropriate for said body type. They do it for every occasion imaginable, and, from what I hear, it’s very successful. Meg got over her single life by becoming successful. She ended up inseminating herself about two years back and had a son she named George after the prince in England, with the hopes that she too can find her own prince one day.

Chris went on to the Rhode Island School of Design after sending in his portfolio spur of the moment after his junior year of high school. Getting in, he took night school for a semester and managed to get his GED for the spring semester of what would have been his senior year of high school. He now does animation for this company named after some animal or something in California, where he is now based. He comes home every now and again, mostly for Christmas, but always sends us and the rest of the Griffins updates on what he’s doing and what his life is like. He met a lovely girl over a year ago at the company, who has the darling name of Stephanie Parker, and rumor has it, he’s going to pop the question any time now.

Peter and Lois are somehow still happily married. They went through an open marriage arrangement about two years ago, which didn’t really work out because once, when Brian was on a book tour, Peter showed up drunk at our front door, demanding sex from me. I ended up calling Joe, who got Peter into A.A.—again. Well, now he’s doing the whole “moderation” thing again, but we’ll see how that goes. Lois, now experiencing somewhat of empty nest syndrome, adopted another dog, except this one is a female poodle that Peter insisted they name “Brady” for some reason—although Brian tells me it is after Tom Brady of the New England Patriots, despite the fact that he supported Trump in the 2016 Presidential Election...wah-wah-wah. Brian backed me up when I insisted that the two of them get her fixed—I did not want Brian having any more children with anyone that wasn’t me. Hey, I’m his wife, for Christ’s sake. Wives get to make certain choices when it comes to a balanced, healthy union.

The day he asked me to be his wife was the second-happiest day of my life, the first being the birth of our twins. That day was truly something out of a fairy tale. It was about two months before the twins were born, and Brian decided to have a big party for the whole family to celebrate our anniversary at The Chanler at Cliff Walk, with Felix, Jackie, Daphne, the Griffins, and the Browns, in attendance. Of course, Quagmire managed to weasel his way in, and Joe and Bonnie were invited, too, with Kevin—who couldn’t stop staring at Meg —and Susie. We had a D.J. there that night, and when our song—_Close to You_ by The Carpenters—played, Brian held me close for the duration of the dance. Finally, he proposed to me in front of everyone, with an antique ruby ring with diamonds surrounding it. I loved it on sight and vowed to marry him. We ended up getting married right there at The Chanler at Cliff Walk, with everyone we wanted in attendance.

“Vivienne?”

I turn around to face Brian, a smile on my face. “Good morning,” I reply, crossing the room and climbing back in bed beside him. “How are you?”

“Good,” he replies, kissing my forehead. “Excited for today?”

I giggle. “It’s not every day that a mother gets to send her oldest son off to do goodness knows what,” I mutter.

“Hey, Felix graduated high school a year early. That was the condition we gave in order for him to take out _The Shawshank Regriffins_ on tour... Although I’d have at least thought over that name a little bit more...”

I roll my eyes. “Sweetie, he’s seventeen. Of course it’s going to be a weird name initially, but who knows? They’ll tweak it, or it’ll become a hit.”

Brian nods. “You’re probably right. How are the girls taking it?”

“As any wannabe groupies might,” I reply. “They’ll be fifteen in three months and they think they’re going with him...”

“Felix is turning eighteen a week before he leaves, so technically we can’t stop him, but they sure as hell aren’t going anywhere...”

I push out my lower lip. “I thought we decided on Disney World this year,” I whine in a sarcastic manner. “Remember? Felix was going to leave the tour in Jacksonville for the weekend to join us in Orlando...”

“We’re not driving him?”

I snort. “No! He’s taking a three-hour bus ride there, but we’re taking him back and catching a flight at Jacksonville International Airport.”

“I thought we decided on Orlando, leaving just after the mandatory ten hours at Disney World as dictated by many leading parenting magazines...”

I raise my eyebrows at him, reaching under the covers and in between his legs. “I’ll make it worth your while,” I whisper.

He grins. “I like the way you think, Mrs. Griffin.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Griffin...” I say softly.

Suddenly the door bursts open and Brian and I suddenly dart away from each other like two horny teenagers who were caught in the act. Sitting up, Sabrina and Health jump into my arms while Jackie and Daphne get on either side of us and Felix hops onto the foot of the bed, a grin on his face. He looks triumphant, and a doppelganger of my brother Paul, which almost makes me cry as I look at him.

“Mom?” he asks; god, his voice is so deep now.

I quickly snap out of my reverie. “Yeah, honey?”

“Come on,” he says with a grin. “I graduate in six hours. Do I get my favorite breakfast or don’t I?”

“Yeah, Mommy!” Sabrina and Health chorus.

I lower my eyes at them and smile. They were so much like their half-brother, Dylan—who I’d met since he became the youngest actor to ever win Best Actor in a Leading Role when his Disney T.V. show was spun off into a movie _Parent Boppers: The Villain Within_. It had since been made into two sequels: _Parent Boppers: The Return of the Villain Within_ and _Parent Boppers: The Villain’s Darkness_ and had a fourth film in development: _Parent Boppers: The Lightness of Being_. He had collected three Oscars for these roles. Also like Dylan, Sabrina and Health were completely human as well.

Sabrina—who was named after the Audrey Hepburn character and _not_ the teenage witch—had my hair and Brian’s dark eyes, along with my elegant nose. She possessed our mutual talents of writing and a love of reading, managing to begin reading the _Harry Potter_ books earlier that year. We were very proud of her, although she was a little over enthusiastic when it came to little things.

Heath tossed his sandy hair then, and my heart swelled at how much he resembled Paul when my older brother was just a little boy. His blue eyes, which came from my father, had a lightness to them; he had a flair for comedy, and wished to be the next Jimmy Fallon when it came right down to it. He was so kind, that Brian and I felt that it was a perfect fit.

“Okay, favorite breakfast—waffles, eggs, and sausages!” I cry. “Last one to the kitchen is a rotten egg!” I cry, and everyone scoots off the bed, except for Jackie and Daphne, who remain behind. I cock my head to one side. “Girls? Come on, let’s hustle. At this rate, we’re losing to the boys.”

“Sabrina can represent us, can’t she?” Jackie asked.

“Yeah, Mom,” Daphne replies. “She runs fast...”

I smile at the two of them and shake my head. “Okay. What’s going on?”

They sigh. “Today was the day that they were murdered, and nobody really seems to care at all,” Jackie says, almost as if she wants to stop herself from doing so.

“Jackie!” Daphne hisses.

“Girls.” I sigh and take their hands. “We all care, very much. What happened to your mom and dad was deplorable...”

“But _you’re_ our mom, Mom!” Daphne says stubbornly.

I smile and kiss her forehead. “Yes, I am your mom, _now_. I don’t want you to forget Sarah Shaw, your birth mother. She was an amazing woman, and you two look just like her.” I take their hands. “You’re almost fifteen...god I can’t believe time has gone by so fast...” I give them each a smile. “Have you given any thought to what you may want to do after you graduate high school?”

“College?” they say.

I grin. “If you want to. I’m not forcing you. Felix is touring with the band now, but our deal is that he gets until he is twenty-one. Then, if they’re not Taylor Swift successful, he has to go to college. Signed a contract, too,” I say, feeling proud of myself.

Jackie bites her lip. “Can I go to law school?”

I raise my eyebrows. “You want to go to law school? It’s not like _Legally Blonde_... Well, you’re not blonde, and I’m just assuming. I didn’t go to law school...”

“Do you think I can do it?” she asks.

I lean in and hug her. “Of course. I think if you work hard enough, you can be whoever or whatever you want to be.”

“Can I go to med school, Mom?” Daphne asks me softly, almost as if she fears I will yell at her for the expense it’ll eventually cost. “I think I want to be a child psychologist focusing on grief.”

I smile and hug her, too. “I think that’s wonderful, sweetheart. I think you’d really make a wonderful child psychologist.” My phone buzzes then. “Oh, it’s Stewie.”

“Take it!” they squeal together.

I put it onto FaceTime. “Hi!” I say, waving at him. “Just here with the girls. Say hello!” I say, moving the phone to Jackie and Daphne.

“Hi Stewie!” they chant.

“Hello,” he says. “Viv, I needed to talk...”

“What’s up?” I ask. “I’m not changing your grade again...”

He chuckles. “No. No, nothing like that...”

“Stewie?” Brian enters the room. “Everything okay?”

“Um, yeah, yeah. Just... Just needed to talk to you two.”

“Okay, girls. Go make sure Felix, Sabrina, and Heath didn’t destroy the kitchen,” I say rather indulgently to the pair of them.

“Aw!” they cry, getting up off the bed, but nonetheless going down to the kitchen.

“What’s up, Stewie?” Brian asks.

“It’s Meg...”

“What about Meg?” I ask.

He sighs. “Her and Kevin eloped!” he cries, unable to stand it any longer. “He took her and George to Vegas and they just...got married!”

I clap. “That’s wonderful!”

“Seriously?!” he demands. “It’s Meg!”

“Stewie...” Brian says, rubbing his eyes.

I shrug. “Hell, I’m in no place to judge. I married a dog...”

“Woof,” Brian replies.

I turn to look at him. “For the love of a dog... I love a dog...” I grin at him. “Woof,” I say in what I think is a sexy voice.

Stewie screams like he’s just witnessed every sexual act that Quagmire has committed before shouting, “Gotta go!” and hanging up.

“You love a dog?” he asks.

I can’t stop grinning. “Hell yes,” I reply. “I’ll love you forever...”

“You can take me here or there,” he says, laughing. “You could take me in a box, you could take me with a fox...”

I shut my eyes and shake my head. “No... No. I would not take you in a box. I would not take you with a fox...”

“Maybe you’re right. Box denotes homeless person and fox means... Like a bear skin rug or something...?”

I shrug. “Who knows?”

“I know that I love you,” he says.

I lean in and kiss him. “I know that I love you more,” I reply.

THE END


End file.
